LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



Chap 



. Copyn 



opynght No. 



Shelf_«i;«C- 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



PLAYS, 



SIBYL. 

tp:lemaghus. 

^NEAS, 



BY 



CHAS. r4ILDEHAUS. 




SAINT LOUIS : 
John I>. Bot.and Book and Stationery Co., 

1888. 






COPYRIGHT, i8S8, BY CHAS. GILDEHAUS. 
AIX RIGHTS RESERVED. 



R. P. Studlky & Co., Printbrs, 
St. Louis. 



TO SHAKESPEARE. 



Henry and Hamlet, 

Born by chance, 
Were raised to fame 

On Shakespeare's lance. 

Supreme creator, 

Who of man, 
Save bur Redeemer, 

Leads thy van : 

The w^oe and weal 
Of great and small 

Responded to 

Thy magic call. — 

I learned to love, 
When yet a child, 

Thy wondrous music 
Fierce and mild : 

With growing years 

I 'gan to see 
The truth of thy 

Philosophy. 



IV To Shakes f care. 

Your clarion voice 
Rings tVom the goal 

Starting an echo 
In my soul ; 

And now I prattle 
Of king and clown, 

Of earth and heaven, 
Up and down. 

My truest notes 
I owe to thee ; 

The false, to my 
Infirmity. 



SIBYL. 



A DUAMA. 



PP]RSONS REPRESKr^TED. 



ROBERT INGRAITAM. 
EDWARD, //is son. 
HENRY CLIFFORD. 
LOUIS LE NOM. 
WALTER HARVEY. 
W7LLIAM. 
A PRIEST. 

ISABICL, wife of Robert higraham. 
LUCY, her daughter, 
SIBYL HARVEY. 
KATE. 

ScNE— Acts I, II, III and V, Washington. 
Act IV^ Appomatox. 



ACT I. 



SCENE I. — An Apartment in Ingraham's 
House. 

Kate. Enter William. 

William. Has Mr. P^dward been here? 

Kate. He has — quite frequently. 

Will. Now? 

Kate. No, not now : but to-day, yesterday, last 
week, last 

Will. I know that very well. 

Kate. Then why do you ask ? Seems to be 3^our 
bad day, William. 

Will. And your good one. But, by the Lord, I 
see nothing in your condition to make me laugh. 

Kate. Nor I to make me weep. 

Will. Then you are blind, mentally blind ; for ig- 
norance alone makes our condition tolerable. No, 
Kate, you are lodged no better than T : in this we 
bunk together. You kiss the rod, but do not therefore 
escape the whipping any more than I do. For a little 
filthy lucre we lease our legs and limbs to my lord and 
my lady ; sell the priceless treasure of liberty which 
a just God has given to all mankind alike. But, mark 
you, the redress will come. The world shall be revo- 



2 Sibyl. 

lutionized : there shall be no more difference between 
man and man — nor women, either. Your state shall 
be as free as ours, whereas now your existence is but 
a tool of your mistress' pleasure. You build her fire, 
make her bed, she rings, you answer. When IMiss 
Lucy wants her fan, 3^ou bring it to her; when Miss 
Sibyl has company, you open the door. And so it 
goes from morning to night ; Kate here, Kate there, 
and Kate everywhere. It's preposterous to saj^ the 
least. But why do I count your misfortunes when the 
tyranny- of my vocation will not so much as distinguish 
between da}'^ and night. In my behalf the cloclv 
strilvcs in vain. When Mr. P^dward pleases to go to 
the club or theatre, or a thousand and one other places 
where he deems it necessary to present his dignity, he 
takes no more consideration for m}" convenience than 
I were a stone. 

Kate. Be more respectful, AVilliam. 

Will. Why in the devil should I be his coachman 
any more than he mine? There, tell me that. 

Kate. vSpeak to him as you do here, and I warrant 
he will give you leave to quit. 

Will. And what shall I do then? 

Kate. Do as he did : make a fortune and keep a 
€oachman of your own. 

Will. I wouldn't have one. 

Kate. Then get one for me. 

Will. I flatter m^^self to drive any horses that Mr. 
Edward can buy. We pushed the new sorrel team 
over the track yesterday afternoon, and before we 



Sibyl. 



3 



passed tlic quarter-post Mr. Edward gives me tlie 
lines — ''guess you better take 'em, William." 

Kate. Is't cold out? 

WiU. Yes. I'll give Mr. Edward just ten minutes, 
and then I'll put the horses into the stable. \_'Ex\t. 

Kate. And when he comes 3'^ou'll hitch them uj) 
again. 

Sings: Suniiner ties his bundle up, 

He is (loomed to wander; 
Halniy days and moonlit night 
I'acks he in his l)undle tight, 

He will nothing sciuander. 

Pansy and forget-me-not, 

Pink and rose and myrtle, 
liob-o-link and whip-poor-will, 
Fly with him o'er wood and hill, 

Whence he calls the turtle. 

Lusty Winter, clad in white, 

Captures tield and city: 
At the window snow and sleet, 
Down the chimney, in the street. 

Listen to his ditty. 

Wool and fur shall keep us warm, 

('lieery glows the fire; 
And the singing kettle blows 
Steam from out his iron nose — 

Pussy joins the choir. 

Hring the fife and violin, 

Tiip a dancing measure. 
NVilliam, William, you may croak. 
But to us, a jolly folk, 

Life is full of pleasure. 

Summer, Summer, fare you well, 

Come again to morrow. 
Winter, Winter, every year 
You shall find a welcome here. — 

IJanish pain and sorrow. 



4 Sibyl. 

Enter Edward. 

Edifj. Confine your capers to the kitchen, my 
young lady. 

Kate. Beg pardon, sir. 

Edio. Stay! Is one in the library? 

Kate. No, sir. 

Edw. Methought I heard the bell. 

Kate. Company for Miss Harvey. 

Edw. So. 

Kate. Mr. Clifford. 

Edio. Clifford. Mr. Henry Clifford? 

Kate. Yes, sir. 

Edw. You are sure 'twas he? 

Kate. Quite sure: I recognized him instantly. Be- 
sides, I took his card. 

Edw. You may go. [Exit Kate. 

And what is Clifford that his very name 
Can start the tranquil rivers of m}^ heart 
To throb in such a fashion? Look you now, 
My breath comes quick. I have no faith in omens. 
And yet I am persuaded more than proof 
That his advent bodes evil. Henry Clifford, 
You are my enemy ; and doubly so 
Because you prank the visor of a friend 
To screen your inborn malice. Two long years 
You warred in Sibyl's heart like crimson vSatan 
For deviltry alone ; 'twas not for love : 
That constant passion burns as far above you 
As wealth o'er poverty. But 3^ou are charged 
Topful of vanity : conceit and pride 



Sibyl. 

Are yours as by contractment. ^'our delight 

Has ever been to blast the innocent bosom 

With passion conned from books ; to play the lover 

In nature like a mimic on the stage, 

With tears and sighs begot for nothing else 

But to make sport withal. Most nol)le sport, 

To feed simplicity with honeyed poison 

And then observe the torture you inllict 

With stoic unconcern. And more strange still 

That Sibyl's high-born spirit should stoop down 

To let a rh3'ming and fantastic tongue, 

Hanging for mere employment, steal her heart. — 

But stay, I speak now of a thing that was. 

And time, the benefactor of all ill, 

With patient medicine draws the venom out 

And heals the wound. Let him assail her now 

With tools new tempered on his nimble wit 

And he will find admission to her love 

♦Sealed with contempt. J do not claim to be 

What Monsieur Louis calls a menschenkenner, 

80 far as women go ; excepting Sibyl, 

I found so much of nothing in them all 

That pity was the only sentiment 

They ever roused in me. Ikit I do know, 

However fickle woman's love may be, 

That there is nothing they detest in man 

More than inconstancy. There lies the ground 

On which we'll shift the battle, gentle Clifford: 

The ever changeful moon of your affection 



6 Sibyl. 

Will lose his borrowed lustre when the sun 

Of constant love streams o'er the horizon. \_Exit. 

Enter Robert Ingraham and His Wife. 

Ing. These moneys and estates, dear Isabel, 
Which we are now possessed of, came to me 
As 'twere in embryo from my dead partner; 
For he persuaded me against my will 
To join our sums for purchase of that land 
In western Pennsylvania. He foresaw 
The future of petroleum — I did not. 

Isa. You weigh your words as we had stolen 
something 
Which now your conscience pricked you to confess. 

Imj. No, not at all. My right of ownership 
Stands undisputed in the face of law, 
And I might almost say, of conscience too. 
When Harvey died, the assets of our firm 
Did hardly reach my annual income now : 
Hence in division of the partnership — 
Myself, a man then in his ablest years, 
And his two children, three and five years old — 
I thought it proper to assume all risk 
Of doubtful enterprises, and for them 
To set apart that portion of our having 
Which was secure, and which I know would yield 
A fair return. — And so indeed it did. 

Isa. Then wherefore do you speak of this to me? 
If we are but beholden to ourselves 



Sibyl. 7 

For what we have, there needs no mention of it. 

lug. True, very true. But, still the fact remains 
That I for every dollar Harvey left 
By my administration to his children 
Have drawn a hundred — yea, a goodly thousand. 
From those same lands that he saw fit to buy 
Without the least encouragement from me. — 
Why, in the settlement of our affairs 
They went for next to nothing. 

Isa. Well? 

Ing. Yes, well ! 

Isa. Good heavens, we have done for Harvey's 
children 
No less than for our own. There's no distinction. 
Walter and Sibyl are as dear to me 
As Lucy and our Edward. Since the day 
Their mother died both dwell beneath our roof, 
And when we chance to speak or think of children, 
We think on four, not two. 

Ing. Beloved wife, 

You are a faithful and devoted mother, 
Firm and affectionate ; I thank you for't. 
But, Isabel, I fear me, time may come 
And make division of our unity : 
Our children are no children, and as we 
In years gone by forsook the parent nest 
To build our own, so these may do some day. 
Will they continue ever as they are? 

Isa. Yes, yes : I comprehend. What fool am I. 
li we could bring 't to pass. Now, let me see — 



8 Sibyl. 

Ing. Lucy and Walter. 

Isa. Tli^'y are tractable, 

And wise enough to see advantage in 
Their common father's wish. 

Ing. Edward and — 

Isa. Edward, 

He dotes on Sibyl. 

Ing. Is't not perfect then? 

Isa. Walter and Lucy, 3'es ; and Edward, 3'es ; 
And Sib}'!. — there's an end of 't. 

Ing. What, will she 

Reject the hand of Edward Ingraham? 

Isa. Heaven knows what she maj' do. 

Ing. AVho is the man 

More qualified to be j^our Sib^d's husband 
Than our son Edward? He is apt and shrewd, 
Constant to anything his mind affects, 
Gentle in manner, and such perfect schooling 
That he is ready to submit opinion 
In all discourse. A modest gentleman. 
Albeit he bears him with a dignity 
Commensurate to his worth. A man of wealth, 
Yet free from all the wild extravagance 
That seems twin-born with fortune. And for Sibyl — 
The very gaiety of her disposition, 
Her love of admiration, and her pride 
To be in all the first, depend on wealth. 

Isa. He loves her, but too solemn. 

Ing. Too sincerely ? 

I arrant vou, Sibyl has a dozen friends 



Sihyl. 9 

Abler than Kdward in the genial nothing 
That lends enchantment to society. 
Tliey'll answer at a dance or theatre, 
For music, masks, receptions and the shows 
Whicli lately in the name of charity 
Yield tit occasion to our gentle folk 
To air their vanity and spread fine clothes. 
But for a husband, no. 

ha. If you object 

'J'o those conditions that maintain a place 
In good society, I am content 
To (juit right here. You but supply the means, 
The cares of application rest with me. 
And to be honest, I as leave had be 
Less rich and more at ease. 

Lucy. {v:lthout.) Just one minute, Mr. LeNom, 
and then you nuiy go. 

Enter Le Nom, Walter and Llcy. 

Say yes, papa; please say yes. I'll not trouble you 
for a week if you'll say yes. Please do. I'll be good, 
iind kind, and attentive, and diligent, and everything 
else, if 3^ou'll say yes. Just once, please! 

Ing. Oh, no: your (piestion must precede my 
consent. 

Lucy. Agreed, agreed I ]5ear me witness, gentle- 
men ; and now you may do 't without my subornation. 
Your wisdom hath most emphatically and eminently 
proclaimed that mj- question must need precede your 
consent ; therefore, by all the virtue of logic your 
consent must follow my question. You see, father. 



lO Sibyl. 

I am fresh from school; by and by conclusion may 
grow rusty. They say a man's word is as good as his 
bond — moreover my witnesses — 

Ing. Will agree with me ! 

Lucy. Stop, stop ! Remember, my question is to pre- 
cede, not to follow your consent. Constrain yourself 
a little while, father ; I will but test your patience to 
the point of obedience, no further. This it is : Your 
friend, Colonel Hatton, has invited a number of ladies 
and gentlemen, among whom Mr. LeNom, Walter and 
myself, to accompany him on a tour of inspection over 
his road. We shall be gone ten or twelve days, and 
as some of our best people are going we are sure to 
have a delightful time. Colonel Hatton invited me 
personally ; if you refuse, I know you will offend him. 

Isa. I understand Lady Cannes of the French 
legation to be one of the party ? 

Lucy. Our chaperon. 

Isa. She is a most estimable lady. Press your 
suit no further, Lucy ; your father and I will consider 
the matter. 

Le N. I bid you good night. 

Isa. Good night. 

[Exit LeNom, Lucy and Walter. 

Enter Edward. 

Ing. Well, Edward, what's the news in town to- 
night ? 

Edw. I know not. 

Ing. Edward ! 

Isa. Are you ill? 



Sibyl. 1 1 

Edio. I have 

Good cause to be so. 

Ing. Let us know the cause, 

Perchance we can remove it. 

Edio. Tell me, father, 

And mother, you : is it by your consent 
This fellow keeps your daughter company? 

Isa. LeNom ? 

Edic. No, not LeNom. Your other daughter, 

Your daughter Sibyl. 

Isa. And the gentleman ? 

Edw. Clifford, if it please you call him gentleman. 

Zs'ft. Clifford ! 

Edw. Aye, Clifford. 

Tsa. When did he return? 

I thought he was abroad, in Italy. 

Edio. No matter where he was, but here he is. 
Here in your house, here in your daughter's presence. 
And wherefore think you? 

/s'rt. He is fond of Sibyl, 

Edw. Not love, but malice brings him to our house ; 
JNIalice towards me. 

Isa. Edward, I am amazed. 

Ing. Acquaint us with the reason for this malice. 

Edw. The greatest reason of them all, good father, 
Which needs no other reason than it is. 
1 know full well, and he no less than I, 
That from creation's mortar we escaped 
Compounded of such diverse element 
That by the very nature of their being. 
Like fire and water, are condemned to wage 



12 Sibyl. 

Eternal warfare. Having once discovered 
That Sibyl is my vulnerable part 
He plies his venom there, and follows her 
With persecution damned and barbarous: 
Such grim perseverance as an Indian chief 
Would blush to look upon. That time ago 
His tempest left poor Sibyl most a wreck ; 
And are you satisfied to let him now, 
E'en in the sacred harbor of her home, 
Conjure a storm will shake poor Sibyl's heart 
Past all redemption? 

Ing. Be you patient, Edward : 

Methinks we can forestall this arrogance — 
If you be willing. Give her but the choice. 
The direct choice twixt Clifford and yourself, 
And take my word she will not fail to act 
As best becomes your happiness and hers, 
Your mother's and my own. 

Edw. I'll do it father. 

Ing. And do't to-night, for all the interim 
Between a mind resolved and purpose tried 
Serves but to cool ambition, opes the door 
To let the adverse faction enter in 
With argument and opportunity. 
The architect, when once the walls are up, 
With all abridgement spreads the sheltering roof 
To guard his enterprise. 

Isa. I fear me much, 

That Edward paints this Clifford all too black : 
For I have found him still a gentleman 
Of rare behavior and of civil speech ; 



Sibyl. 13 

And some whose estimation is not cheap 
Esteem him highly. Still I do confess, 
And therefore he can never be a friend, 
His inclinations have a tendency 
Apart from ours. I neither can nor wish 
To share his liberal doctrines, when he sets 
The heathen gods upon as high a plane 
As Christianity. He sins in that. 

Edio. In that, in all! Why, look you, here's a 
man 
That packs his heaven with a lecherous band 
Of drunken gods ; exalts a bawdy minstrel 
Upon the top round of creation's ladder; 
Makes it his boast that on a single page 
Of this same Shakespeare he finds more religion 
Than in the teachings of our holy church 
Expounded by a dozen ministers. 
And then anon he plays the hypocrite ; 
For what true faith can any man possess 
That mentions (4od in terms of fellowship, 
Regards him as he were his boon companion. 
No Christian should commune with such a man, 
Much less a Christian woman. 

^^^9- Shun him then. 

We can not cure the plague, then be content 
To avoid contagion. 

Edw. But it makes me mad 

To hear a sick man boasting of his health. 
By heaven, is it such a wondrous thing; 
To delve the live-long night in musty Greek ; 



14 Sibyl. 

To scribble sonnets, plays and elegies ; 

To dream Utopian dreams ; to grope for da3"s. 

Yea, weeks and months, within the P]g3'ptian fog 

Of German metaphysics? For this Clifford 

Delights in paradoxes ; says all things 

Because they are, are just ; had rather be 

In hell with Hegel, than a cherubim 

Chanting the praise of God. If this be greatness 

Let us hereafter practice blasphemy. 

Isa. Good night. 

^dvi. Good night, dear mother. 

[^Exit Isabel. 

Ing. Rail no more. 

But let 3^our deed speak louder than your tongue. 

Edw. Father, it shall. 

Ing. Then go we in together. 

\^Exeu7it. 
Enter Sibyl. 

Sibyl. There is exception to the general phrase. 
That woman's love like to the boundless air 
Transcends all limit. There is still an end. 
And yoM have reached it, Hal. O day and night, 
The Roman's empire had no wider range 
Than love's domain; but ^^ou have stepped bej-ond : 
You plaj^ed with passion, mocked sincerity. 
I was a poor beast on ^^our surgeon table. 
And you did cut \ny doting heart in twain 
To enrich youv knowledge with experiments. — 
So be it then. Farewell felicity, 



Sibyl, 15 

Farewell, farewell to you 1113^ fairyland 

Which fond imagination huilt of dreams. 

Your airy castles lit with poesy. 

With learning, love and peace, shall be no more. 

For here, so heaven help me, I renounce 

The spell of your enchantment. Treacherous hope, 

Take back the promise you can never keep, 

And for a world which I release thee of 

Send me a pilot to the sleepy shore 

Where Lethe wells. O teach me to forget. 

Ye gentle ministers that wait on man 

In days of misery. My prayer henceforth 

Shall be contracted to a single word : 

That word, oblivion. — If I were a man. 

Perchance I'd whip my pride with recollection 

Till wounded honor yearning for redress 

Turn love to hate. O God, here Edward comes : 

There's destiny in heaven. 

Enter Edwaud. 

Edir. ^^ liy these tears? 

Sibyl. I pray you, pardon them. I am not well. 
Will you forgive me? 

Elw. What's the matter, Sibyl? 

Sibyl. Oh, nothing, nothing: I'm a sillj^ girl 
That dotes on weeping. 

Edw. So. 

Sibyl. Indeed, 'tis true. 

There's nothing more reliev^es a heavy heart 
Than copious tears. 



1 6 Sibyl. 

Ediv And why is your heart heavy? 

What is there in the world that Sibyl lacks 
But she may have with asking? 

Sibyl. Right, you are right. 

I will be merr}^, for I have more cause 
To laugh than to repine. 

Edw. I have the less. 

Sibyl. You less? 

Ediv. I less. Be honest with me, Sib}'! ; 

So much, if nothing more, I may expect. 
Look not amazedly, for your conception 
Can never plead so far in ignorance 
As to maintain that my sincere devotion 
Slipped 3^ou unheeded by. 

Siltyl. Since childhood, Edward, 

You are to me a true and trusted friend, 
Whose constancy I hold as near to heart 
As misers do their money. 

Ediv. Look you, Sibyl, 

This love of mine dates back beyond the years 
We went to school together. Even then 
I took no pleasure in my i^laymates' sport, 
Preferring you to all their compan3^ 
Under one roof we have been reared together. 
But as we came to age we somewhat parted. 
See, you were drawn into the world's detraction 
That waits on wealth and bright accomplishments^ 
While I, enchanted with an angel's friendship, 
Made bold to love her. Nothing ever moved 
My heart save you alone ; and ni}' ambition 



Sihyl. 1 7 

Excluded all things else but such advancement 
As furnished means to make me worthy of you. 
Sihyl. Yes, I am much to blame. 

Edw. But, tell me, Sibyl. 

Must hope despair and die unsatisfied? , 

Sihijl. A learned man did write it in his book, 
That man's attachment covered all our sex, 
While woman loved but one. 

Ediv. He wrote a lie: 

For 1 will love and cherish you forever. 

Sibyl. Forever, Edward? 

Ediv. Yes ! 

Sihyl. Then I am yours. 

Edw. Mine, truly mine! Would I could thank 
you, Sibyl, 
liut this my utmost prayer now fulfilled 
Confounds me more than any quick event 
That came unheralded. 

Sibyl. Forbear your thanks. 

There's not an undug jewel in the earth 
Too rich a token for a constant man. 

Edir. Come, father, mother! See, your son is 
happy. 
And Clifford, thou art done for. Mother, father! 

[Exit. 
Sibyl. Kind heaven, have mercy on me! 



—2 



1 8 Sibyl. 



ACT II. 

SCENE 1. — An Apartment in a Club House. 
Walter and LeNo^i throimig dice. 

Walter. Come, once again. Three sixes. 

Le Norn. Veiy good. 

WaJ. Two deuces. 

Le N. Let it stand? 

Wal. No, three is fair, 

And these two deuces don't improve them much. 
Here's to another six. 

Le N. Where is it? 

Wal. Shoot. 

Le N. Two pair, threes up. 

Wal. Again. 

Le N. An ace. 

Wal. Once more. 

Another deuce — I've lost. 

Le N, You're out of luck. 

Wal. A bottle, Charles; and make't a big one 
this time, 
For I deserve to lose. — To-day's the sixth, 



Sibyl. ip 

November sixth of eighteen hundred sixty. 
Let's underline it in our calendars, 
For it will be a memorable daj^ 

Le N. 1 do not think so, Walter. These elections 
Are like the bucking season to your deer, 
That grapple horns and raise a cloud of dust. 
Perchance a little dirt, and six months after 
The blood again is cold and all forgotten. 

Wal. That shows how little you are conversant 
With this day's issue. Mark you what I say: 
If Lincoln wins the day, and that he wins 
There's little doubt, then eighteen hundred sixty 
Will be the birthyear of a new republic — 
A glorious one at that. 

L^ ^' 'Tis yet in travail, 

And from the symptoms will most like miscarry. 
I've been in the North — 

^Vcd. Le Noiii, you are no fool: 

What compact binds one party when the other 
Persists in violation? 

■^>e N. That's a question, 

Wal. What is a question ? 

^e Norn. This, the violation. 

Wal. Our proofs are legion. 

^^^ ^' But where is your judgment? 

And having that, where are your means to enforce it? 

Wal. Be not discouraged, sir; when 't comes to 
that. 
We have prepared a trifle, just a trifle: 
The matter's in our mind for some ten year. 



20 Sibyl. 

But, honestl}', I do not think they'll fight 

When all we ask is to be let alone. 

There is no longer anything in common: 

Our mutual interests 'gan to pull apart 

These forty years ago. We now to them, 

As they to us, hang like a chain and ball 

That clog our feet. Strike but these shackles off, 

And with a giant's step we'll march our way 

In prosperous journey. 

Le N. Very plausible ; 

And yet, methinks, there must be more in 't, Walter. 
1 have bespoke some men, and wise ones too. 
Who called this union sacred. 

Wal. Sacred — bosh I 

Le Nom, it gives me wonder that a man 
Familiar with the law — 

Le N. You're very kind. 

Wal. One need not go beyond the a-b-c 
Of 3^our political econom}^ 
To comprehend the justice of our cause. 
When hundred years ago these several states, 
At that time colonies, were hard beset 
By English rule, they formed a federacy 
For two good reasons : first, because the burden 
Pressed equally on all ; and next, because 
The only hope to shake the burden off 
Lay in united action. This they did. 
Tliat union was indeed a potent armor 
To fortify our bojiiood, but Le Nom, 
Our quick dimensions have so far outgrown it. 



Sibyl. 2 1 

That we must break it now. I pray you read 

The constitution, read it carefull}', 

And when you've found a single word or sentence 

That makes this primal bond obligatory, 

I wish you'd show it to me. 

Le N. . Very well. 

Wal. Our union is a custom, not a law. 

Le N. Come, drink your wine and liave no fear 
of me : 
AVhcn 't comss to fight you may command my service, 
And we'll enlist together. 

Wal. Here's my hand. 

Lp N. 'Tvvill be a war as 'twere in Donnybrook. 
1 long to see these rustic cavaliers 
Set in the field, and hear their officers 
Command with hay and straw for right and left. 
What service might a thousand soldiers render 
in such a struggle. 

Wal. Ask the Englishman 

What craven runagates these farmers were 
When once he met them on the banks of Concord. 
Perhaps he'll still remember. 

Enter Edwakd. 

What's the news? 
Ediv. Lincoln's elected. 

Wal. Then the hour is come 

When Calhoun's prophesy will startle some, 
Edw. What nonsense, Walter. 
Wal. Then is freedom nonsense, 



22 Sibyl, 

And right and liberty are nonsense, too. 

Edi(j. What strange perversion in fanaticism ; 
You speak of liberty as 'twere caprice. 

Wal. We Gxy for justice. 

Edii^. Justice you shall have 

In future as you've had it in the past. 

Le N. This is the very end of argument. 
Your watchword, justice, like the final blast 
Of Gabriel's trump inspires the human soul, 
Gives dead men life, and yet njore bloody deeds 
Have in the name of justice been enacted 
Than in the name of wrong. Tell, if you can, 
What battle field beheld the opposing ranks 
Of two great people marching to their graves, 
But justice, like an inviting angel, went 
In advance of either host? 'Twas ever so. 

Ediv. Can justice contradict herself so much? 

Le N. Good gentlemen, when nations go to war 
The blindfold goddess lets her balance sink. 
Slips from her seat, and might alone proclaims 
What shall be right. Now, in the present case 
Your Northern men insist upon the tariff. 
The South upon her slaves, and either side 
Denies what is most sacred to the other ; 
And since no compromise seems possible, 
The cannon is your only arbiter. 

Wal. No, sir, not so; we care not if they build 
A tariff-wall as high as the Alleghanies ; 
They'll see their folly when the ])lowshare costs 



Sibyl. 23 

More than the field it digs in. All we ask 
Is to be let alone. 

Edw. Stay, brother Walter, 

And listen to a kind of parable : 
There was upon a time a little boy 
Not fond of school ; to him it was the tyrant 
That robbed him of his youth and liberty. 
So one day, mustering all his courage up. 
He stole away and spent the sunny hours 
K'en to the fashion of his boyish whim. 
1 see, you have me. AVell, to make it short, 
His gentle mother, with a birchen twig, 
Ingrafted such persuasion on tlie lad 
That next day he was at his books again. 

Will. A model bo}'. 

Eilw. Aye, Walter, and what's more, 

If this boy ever grows to be a man, 
As I do hope, he will not be remiss 
To thank his mother ; and the birchen twig 
May do his children service. 

Wal. My dear sir. 

You are too partial to the ancestor. 
This self-appointed foster-motlicr liatli 
For twenty years belabored our j^oor backs. 
And now resentment threatens. By the Lord, 
No parent ever taught his child to love him 
With chastisement alone. 

Edw. Alone ? 

Will. Alone. 

Edw. Come, here's a map. And since a nimble 
tongue 



24 Sibyl. 

Can twist a proverb till it point a moral 
Directly adverse from its honest meaning, 
I will speak plainty ; no ambiguous word 
Shall enter here. In eighteen hundred twenty, 
When by the custom that alternate made 
A free state and a slave Missouri fell 
In turn to the North, you raised a hue and cry. 
Though Alabama but the year before 
Had been admitted on the side of slavery. 
We did not then cry out for law and justice. 
But, with an elder brother's lenity. 
We waived our claim, we gave you all you asked ; 
And for the sake of peace you were permitted 
To drag your chains into Missouri's fields, 
And taint her sixty thousand fruitful miles 
With scourge and slavery. Was this chastisement? 
Then to prevent all future disputation 
Remember how the famous line was drawn 
Twixt liberty and bondage even here. 
Balked in the north, you cast your greedy eye 
E'en here southwest, and to enlarge 3^our power 
Did implicate our nation in a war, 
An impious, wrong, unreasonable war 
Against a peaceful neighbor. All this land, 
Greater by far than Britain's double island. 
Became a land of slaves ; and we submitted 
Without revolt — and was this chastisement? 
W(iJ. Our country's limit is the continent. 
Eclw. Perhaps it is. But never did Monroe 
Intend his doctrine for a charitv 



Sibyl. 25 

To cover all this multitude of sins : 
Domingo, Cuba, all the C'arribean isles, 
The black and barbarous countries of the South 
AVero pestered with your i)lots of annexation. 

Wal. Let me— 

Ecln\ Hold on I for b}' the eternal (iod 

You stopped not even there., AA^hen Kansas came 
And knocked against the portal of our Union, 
You razed the sacred line of demarcation 
To give this people power to damn themselves 
If so they chose. And was it chastisement 
AVhen you and the ISouth and the whole administration 
Were there defeated by the very law 
I'nlawfully enacted by yourselves? 
The tide of Europe leaps uj^on our shores 
Ten thousand ships, millions of emigrants 
Seek peace and liberty within the realm 
Of stars and stripes. Their homes are in the North ; 
What infinitesimal and poorly number 
Did you receive of them. Here is a voice 
That sounds the world's opinion of your cause 
And seals the doom of slavery. You perceive it, 
And try to bend the unswerving hand of fate: 
Y'ou set your candidates upon a platform 
Would scatter slavery broadcast o'er the land. 
What bold presumption ever equalled this? 
And now your rash adventure come to grief. 
You call it chastisement. 

Wal. You rail at slavery, 

An institution ancient as the earth. 



26 Sibyl. 

Acknowledged since the origin of tinoe, 

Established as a lawful precedent 

By every people on the populous globe: 

The prehistoric empires of the East, 

The Greek, the Jew, the Roman, and the tribes 

Of brawny Teutons in their northern wilds. 

Conceived the inequality pf man. 

Le N. Was't not a German poet wrote the line^ 
That man is free although begot in chains? 

Wal. lie told the truth, but not the entire truth ; 
For at the cradliB of each new born babe 
Stand tw^o divinities that draw distinction 
'Tween man and man : the one is circumstance. 
The other greater is the man himself. 
AVhat judge or jury ever gave decision 
Unbiased, though perhaps unwittingly, 
Hy intellect and by ability, 
Which designate the master and the man? 
The top tribunal of our government 
Contains proviso for a difference. 
And therefore mercy mitigates the law. 
This like and like and this equality 
Lacks flesh and blood ; it is a vague abstraction. 
The empty echo of a bookish tongue, 
A poet's dream, but a most fruitful text 
To your fantastic abolitionist. 
Our negroes live a simple, harmless life. 
In the free fields, in nature's sunny garden; 
Their minds unstuffed with pride and vain ambition. 
Their bodies filled with am|)le nourishment. 



Sibyl. 27 

Their pleasures of to day are not oppressed 

With discount of to-morrow : every day 

Rounds up the little circle of their lives. 

And every eve the songs of merriment 

lYelude the slumbers of a careless night — 

These are the dusky laborers of the South. 

Now turn we to the workshops of the North, 

Where unschooled boys and half-grown, sickly girls 

Toil for starvation wages. See the men 

That struggle in the bowels of the earth, 

Whom nature cannot bless with light and green. 

From dark within they reach the dark without. 

Follow them home, behold their sanctuary, 

The murky den, the grime, the poverty. 

Which are the whole sum total of their pains. 

And then begin your charity at home. 

J'here's not a bonded nigger in the land 

Who would enlarge the limit of his fate 

For such a liberty. 

Le N. Come, that's enough, 

Or I'll to bed. ^Nlost wonder, wonderful, 
What lofty principles we men can conjure 
To ease our conscience toward our neighbor's purse. 
Great heaven, is this another politician? 

Wal. It should be Hal. I wonder if he knows 
That you and Sibyl 

Edw. Well, and if he did? 

Wal. She was a friend of his, and I believe 
Hal did affect her somewhat. 

Edw. Not a whit. 



28 Sibyl. 

WaJ. We'll see anoD ; and if he smile at it. 
He may be truly termed philosopher. 

Enter Clifford. 

Clifford. Good midnight to 3^ou all. 

Wal. What news abroad ? 

Clif. I supped to-night with a philosopher. 

Wal. Good night. 

Clif. One of the school that our friend Edward here 
Damns for induction. * -Doubtless," he began, 
'•You know that since the dawn of history-, 
One nation at a time doth seem to be 
The age's exponent, the dwelling place 
Of the world-spirit; and you also know 
That from the start this spirit tended west ; 
Look, China, India, Persia, then to Greece, 
From Greece to Rome, from Rome to Western Europe, 
From Western Europe to America." 

Le N. Hal, I object. 

Clif. And so did I, Le Noni. 

And yet he reasoned very plausibly 
"Although." quoth he, ''our several mother countries 
Are far advanced of us in many fields, 
In war, in art, and in economy', 
Yet, take it all in all, America 
Is more indicative of the present age 
Than any other nation." Here he spoke 
Of great inventions, form of government, 
And such things more. I'll not repeat it here — 
'Tis not essential. Suddenly he stops. 



Sibyl, 29 

Ami witli Jill emphasis on every word, 

Asks, ''why is this? wherefore? why must the god 

Of progre^'s march unflinching to the West?" 

By. chance, said 1. '-No, sir," quoth he, "for chance 

Precludes all method, and there is a method 

In this direction. And the god of light, 

Compelled alone by chance, would stray about, 

To the North, to the South, to the P2ast, and ere to-day 

Had pitched his luminous tent upon a tomb 

Where he lies newly buried" 

Edw. Seems to me 

That men so i)rone to idle supposition 
Lack occupation. JNlake these dreamers work. 
And their fantastic theories will dissolve 
In practical employment. 

Clif. Most assuredly. 

But, Edward, show some merc}'^ to your brethren, 
Pity these little ignoramuses. 
Who can not sound the ocean of our learning. 
Why should we draw comparison between 
Ourselves and these? All mankind can not be 
So wise as we are. 

Le N. Tell me, what solution 

Did your most learned doctor promulgate? 

Clff. The motion of our earth. 

Le N. I prithee, how? 

Clif. You see, the earth revolves from the west to 
the east. 
But man in part resists the total motion, 
And therefore relatively tends to the west. 



30 Sibyl. 

Le N. But think you this migration will continue 
Over the sea to China and the islands 
Of the south-sea? 

CI if. I do. There is no stop 

That can prevent it. 

Le N. Edward, let us buy 

Some corner lots in Pekin. 

Wal. One word, Hal. 

Know 3^ou that sister Sybil is engaged 
To marry Edward ? 

Clif. What, your sister Sybil 

To Edward Ingraham? Since when? 

WaJ. To-night. 

Clif. Who told you so? Stay, staj- a while. To- 
night ? 
Let me remember — yes, yes, that is right. 
There's nothing strange in that : they were long friends, 
And may long friendship not forerun betrothal? 
Why, 'tis a common thing. Did 3 ou expect 
That 1 would marvel at it? Edward, my friend. 
Permit me to extend my happiest wish 
To your good fortune. You have won a maid 
That like a poet's heroine doth include 
All sums of excellency. Love her well. 
For she deserves the very man of men. 
To her, to you, much joy. 

Wal. {to Le Norn.) Let us begone. 

Edw. I do receive it, sir, as honestly 
As believe it given. 

Wal. (to Le Nom.) Come away. 



S/'hyl. 3 1 

Tlicre glows a latent fire in their hearts 
Which, none else by, may find combustion now, 
Hut (juenched, will rise again some other time 
Consuming more than now. 

\_ExPMnt Lk No.m and Walter. 

Edw. Sir, you astound me. 

And, Henry Clifford, let me tell you now 
That we were never friends, are none at present, 
Nor ever can be. Though my speech is blunt 
And will, perhaps, offend civility. 
Yet have I now attained my aim. so far 
That I may strij) this l^'ing masquerade 
And set us naked in each other's eye. 
We are no friends. 

Clif. I'm very sorry for it. 

Edw. I doubt it, though indeed you should be so. 
I love this woman. 

Clif, Well, I'll not deny it. 

The action commonly proclaims the man. 
And yours were so intense in that direction 
I'hat proof could nothing add. Wh}', all men knew it. 
And were you now to swear the opposite, 
Would shake their heads and smile. 

Edio. If that be so, 

Why did you strike the Achillean heel in me? 
^'ou knew my love and still you did persist 
To trifle with a heart wh(?rein my life 
Sits deeper lodged than here. 

Clif. You do mistake. 

Remember, she you love is passing fair, 
And wise beyond her years; is apt in music — 



32 Sibyl. 

The simple music of the pastoral day 
Which, by the code, is out of fashion now ; 
Her speech is low, her nimble conversation 
Abounds in mellow wit, and her warm heart 
Beats quick in recognition of all truth. 
She loves the beautiful, admires the brave, 
Applauds the good, encourages the weak 
And helps the needy. Is it wonderful 
That such perfection should be dearly sought 
By many men? If one have sense enough 
To seek the presence of accomplished women, 
And they content to keep him company. 
He were a fool to avoid them. 

Edw. And in turn 

You robbed her of a simple faith in heaven. 
Disturbed her never wavering trust in God, 
And stuffed her brain with silly contradictions,^ 
With foreign phrases, wordy speculation, 
With dialectics of a dreaming fantast 
Whom no one comprehended but himself 
And he miscomprehended. Words, words, words^ 
Philosophy of nonsense. 

Clif. Poor, poor Hegel, 

That ever I should see thee so put down. 

EdiD. You played upon her quick imagination 
With tricks of oratory, touched her heart 
With passionate recitals, scenes of love 
From books unknown to her. 

Clif. Aye, worse than that, 



Sibyl. 33 

I went so far to read my own productions. 

Edw. Which still are waiting for a publisher ; 
Conceit was e'er the parent of presumption. 

CUf. True, true; and for she listened patiently, 
I wondered and admired her ; thanked her often 
When she observed some merit in my work ; 
And 1 assure you many a gentle hour 
We passed in sympathy and tranquil joy. 
But in my whole and entire intercourse 
With this most estimable friend of ours 
I never noticed her delight in you — 
Nor did she speak of it. Else who can tell 
What might have been. 

Edw. I did anticipate. 

Clif. It seems so. Well, there is no cause to 
complain. 
If we have played a match for Sib}^ Harvey 
You've won the game and should be satisfied ; 
While I feel liattered that so rich a inan 
As Edward Ingraham considered me 
A rival worth his anger. 

Edvj. This for all : 

The lady is my true affianced bride ; 
By virtue of which contract I demand 
That henceforth j^ou be nevermore so bold 
To seek her company. It is my wish, 
And my prevailment shall not fail with her, 
That Henry Clifford and the thing I love 
Shall be as strangers. Bear it well in mind, 

—3 



34 Sibyl. 

The dictum is imperative and final, 

That all consideration of the past, 

Each tithe and tittle of acquaintanceship 

(Beit of whatsoever sort it will) 

Stops with to-day. There was one Sibyl Harvey, 

But Sibyl Harvey, now to me alfianced, 

Is dead for Henry Clifford. 



ACT III. 

SCENE I. — An Apartment in Ingraham's 
House. 

Enter Le No]m and Kate. 

Kate. This way, Mr. LeNom. Have a seat. Shall I 
take your coat? 

Le Nom. No, Kate : I am here but en passant. 

Kate. In what? 

Le N. En passant, mademoiselle. 

Kate. What's that? 

Le N. You'd like to know, wouldn't you? 

Kate. Is it anything horrible ; will it frighten me? 

Le N. No, I think not. But you must keep it secret. 

Kate. I will. 

Le N. Surely? 



J 



Sihyl. 35 

Kate. Surely. 

Le N. Come here, then. Nay, I'll not speak it 
aloud. 

Kate. 'Tis not polite to whisper. 

Le N. True, Kate ; when others are present. In a 
company of two whispering is most fashionable. 

Kate Well, what is it? 

Le N, Now you must not laugh, nor make fun of me. 
Give me your hands, and look me straight in the face. 
Now then : when fortune, the most fickle of all goddesses, 
momentarily smiles upon a wise man, when her fleet- 
ing handmaids, circumstance and opportunity, lead 
him into proximity of his inclination, it behooves him 
to accept her munificence, and therefore, this. 

\_Kisses her. 
Kate. I'll tell JNIiss Lucy. 

Le iV, Do so, my inquisitive and wingless Mercury. 
Hie thee to the goddess of mirth, even to the inner- 
most recesses of her sanctuary, and there commune, 
that LeNom, her humble and devoted servitor, awaits 
the pleasure of her high command. [Exit Kate. 

The sea abounds in whalefish and in shark 
That threat the whaler's life and whaler's bark, 
While there's a fish in every little brook 
That may be taken with a pin- bent hook. 

Enter Lucy. 

Lucy. Good evening, Mr. Le Nom. Permit me to 
apologize for keeping you so long. 



36 Sibyl, 

Le N. Don't inenlion it ; f am somewhat tardy my- 
self. 

Lucy. O, jMr. Le Nom, you cannot imagine how 
dependent we poor creatures are : any one of a half 
dozen stupid women, on whom we must depend for 
what we can not do ourselves, have it in their power 
to render us perfectly wretched. 

Le T^, Aye, trul}^ ; the very diamond of life hath a 
riaw in it : precious by comparison, but imperfect in 
the abstract. We can not realize our ideal, Miss Luc}' : 
the two are incompatible. If we pledge ourselves to 
one we necessarily forego the other. — But no more of 
this. 

Lucy. You should have been with us last evening. 

Le N. I so proposed, but was unfortunately pre- 
vented. 

Lucy. Politics. 

Le N. In part, yes; but chiefly because a wise 
candle avoids the sun. Am I not in the right? Green 
was there? 

Lucy, Hugely. Our onh^ man. 

Le N. Wonderful. The father no sooner becomes 
king of one floor, but the son is prince of another. 

Lucy. His name on your dancing card is valued at 
a thousand. Why, a gentleman of mine wagered 
that he could point out every mother whose daughter's 
card was green. 

Xe N. Hope or jealousy? 

Lucy. Hope. 



Sibyl. 37 

Le N. Then the poet's monster exists but in the 
absence of green. 

JjUC}/. Exactly. 

Xe N. I wish I had been there. 

Lacy. vSo do 1. Why, Darwin's theory is a baga- 
telle to the evolution of (ireen. How Explicit in his 
vulgarism ; how naive in his ignorance ; he is not awk- 
ward, but unaffected; not impolite, but independent; 
not overbearing, l)ut high-spirited ; not rude, but nat- 
ural. Say you nothing against my friend Green. 

Le N. And the charming Misses Ilaushalt in their 
cerulean gowns? 

Lii<:y, There as ever ; up against the wall among 
the aunts and the mother like bluebells in a patch of 
fuchsia. 

Le N. Good heavens, Miss Lucy, do not laugh at 
tiiat. 

Lucy. I can't help it, Mr. Le Nom. Perennial 
bouquets should be of wax, not women. 

Le N. Truly ; but is it not mortifying as well as 
ludicrous, that sensible people, and these Ilaushalts 
are sensible people, will persist in exhibiting them- 
selves where they are seen to least advantage? Now 
J liappen to hold some slight accpiaintance with the 
ftimily through the elder Haushalt who is a banker of 
some prominence. I have visited these ladies at their 
home, and 1 assure you, Miss Lucy, in many respects 
they are models. Meeting them here, you would 
hardly recognize them at home. Altiiough somewhat 



38 St'byL 

iincommimicative, they are well educated, refined and 
practical women. The man who marries either of 
them will not regret it. 

Jjticy. Then why do you hesitate? 

JJe N. Because I am too much in love with you. 
But, seriously, Miss Lucy, 1 presented to them no less 
than a dozen of my acquaintances, in the ball room 
mind you, and in all this number not one has ever 
transgressed the formality of that introduction any 
further than was incumbent for politeness' sake. — Are 
you ready? 

Luci/. Yes. By the way. Miss Folliday has re- 
turned. 

Le JV. AV hat ! She that married the German count ? 

Lucij. Yes, sir; the graf and his graefin arrived 
this afternoon. 

Le N. Well, well. Was not their residence abroad 
to have been permanent? 

Lucij. So it was given out. Lillian herself told me ; 
in fact, showed me some photographs of the Count's 
castle on the Hhine. 

Le iN'. IMay have been an error in geography. 

Luc}/. How, error in geography? 

Xe iV. Castles are more commonly found in Spain. 

Lucy. Spanish castles? Horrid! 

Le N. Come. 

\_Exe\int. 

Enter ^VALTEU and Sibyl. 

Walter. No, sister, 1 am set beyond persuasion, 
And if you chide mo. you shall nothing gain 



Sibyl. 39 

But my regret for this, what, who can tell, 
May be our last adieu? 

Sibyl. Then, fare you well : 

'Tis not a woman's otllce to remonstrate 
With man in these affairs. The state is 3'ours, 
The crown of your superior intellects ; 
Yet, how imperfect is your great achievement. 
If j'^ou must still maintain it with brute force. 
If women ever rule the world, believe me. 
There will be no more war. 

Wed. Aye, gentle sister. 

Rut men are ever men, and women, women. 
The turmoil of a battle's preparation, 
The picket's echo and the drum's alarm, 
The restive horse, and the great booming gun, 
The sheeted fire of charging musketry. 
The bursting shell and the fierce shrieks of battle ; 
These, and the bloody business there enacted, 
Appal your sensitive and timid sex. — 
But not so men : assail their countrj^'s honor. 
And insult breeds a giant in them all. 
They rush with keener zest into the embrace 
Of death and foe. than e'er a lover hastened 
To hold his beckoning charmer to his heart 
When music went l)v threes. No, no, dear Sibyl, 
Fear not our fear : tiie worst that can befall 
Is death ; and this we take into account. 
Appraising it at notliing. 

Sibyl. That's a fnult. 

Although a soldier's deatli to him is notliing, 



40 SibyL 

To those they leave 'tis all. Who bears the cross ? — 

The soldier, whom a leaden messenger 

Summons unto an easily' earned heaven : 

Or else his orphans' and the widowed wife, 

Whose tears shall flow through many mournful years 

After their gallant warrior lays him down 

To silent slumber? Ah, believe me, Walter, 

This courage is a child of ecstas}', 

And we must bear the sudden humors of it 

In patience and at leisure. 

WaJ. Fare 3'ou well. 

Reflection leads the way to melancholy, 
No matter what or where. — 'Tis all amiss ; 
You should be merry and I should be sad : 
M3' ventures axe embarked upon a ship 
Whose timbers must endure the tempest shock 
Of civil war; while you, a promised bride, 
Sail on the surface of an even sea 
Into a port of liking. Is 't not so? 
Come, Sibyl, what's the matter with you now? 
Be cheery, girl. Look, how j^our handkerchief 
Brims with the salt and watery element 
As 'twere the canvas of a drowning ship. 
Nay, and you weep, I '11 no more make't my boast 
That you -are wise. [^Exeunt- 

Enter Ingkahaim and Edwahd. 

Ing. No, Edward, there is absolutely no valid ex- 
cuse for delay: both of you are old enough, there is 
no financial obstruction, and as you 've lived in the 



Sihyl. 41 

same house for tlie past twent}^ years, an extended 
engagement is not admissible on a plea to further ac- 
<iuaintance. I speak of this with some reluctance, 
because I well know how rarely we promote these del- 
icate affairs by words of reproof or counsel. Remem- 
ber, from the start it was tacitly understood that 
your marriage was to occur in spring. March is 
drawing to a close, and I think it time to take the 
matter up for consideration. You acquired a resi- 
dence on the day following your engagement — no mat- 
ter that 3'ou paid too much for it ; but ever since that 
day I note a specitic absence of all preparation rele- 
vant to its occupanc}'. What say you? 

Ediv. Nothing. 

Imj. From nothing we infer most. I compre- 
hend. 

Eclw. Father — 

Ing. Nay; I'll spare 3'^ou an explanation; but 
let me warn you that the public is not so credulous as 
I am. It begins to conjecture. See that for them 
you formulate an answer more plausible than nothing. 

Edtc. What shall I do? 

Ing. Anything, so it be done quickly. Wed 
Sibyl if you can, retract your promise if you must. 
That you marry her, is my sincere wish ; and, believe 
me, the absorbing sentimentalism of a lover is no ab- 
solute condition to the happiness of a married man. 
To us love is a pleasure, not a vocation. 

E(Jw. You misapprehend. 

Inrj. Not at all: in ten years 3'OU will think as I 



42 Sibyl, 

do. — Still, 3^011 must decide for j'onrself. If 3^011 per- 
ceive a growing indifference towards your l)ride, do 
not wed her by an^^ means. Indifference is but a 
charitable term for disgust; and, although 3'our mar- 
riage with Sib}^ has been the fondest hope of my lat- 
ter days, I consider it more honorable to break an im- 
possible promise, than to establish an irrevocable pre- 
tense of it at the cost of 3'^oar everlasting misery, and 
her's, too. 

"Edw. For heaven's sake, father, if 't were possible. 
I love her more to-day than e'er before. 
The germs of my distemper lie with her : 
I know not how, but somehow, da3' by da3% 
She seems more strange, more distant, more remote. 
Iler former friendship wanes into a drift 
Of marked civilit3^ and cold respect ; 
While I must bank my raging fires up 
Though all consumes within. What can I do? 

huj. Doth she den3' you? 

Edif:. No! 'twould be niy death. 

Ing. Then, will she marr3' 3'ou? 

Edio. Aye, sir ; to-morrow. 

If it so pleased me. 
' Tng. Wed her, then, to-morrow. 

Edw. I pra3' }'0U, do not ridicule your son ; 
'T is not a father's ottice. Fare you well. 

Iiuj. I speak it truly. 

Edw. Shall 1 wed a woman 

That treats me like a modern diplomat. 
With aye, and certainl3', and as you please 



' Sibyl. 43. 

I am content? Sir, for the past three months 
She never yet expressed a single wish, 
While any plan or pastime I propose 
P^hcits merely a reluctant yes, 
Or else a yielding no. Next time we meet 
I wish you'd listen to us. 

Ing. Not so loud ! 

Here come our women. \^xe%mt. 

Enter Sibyl with a book, and Isabel. 

Isa. Your course is nowise commendable, Sibyl. 
These regrets will not only offend Mrs. ITighton, a 
dear and distinguished friend of ours ; but, P^dward, 
3'0ii should for his sake have attended. 

Sibyl. Is he so fond of receptions? 

Isa. Yes, if it please you. 

Sibijl. But it does not please me ; and if it did, my 
entertainment would suffer with the knowledge that it 
bored him. You know his disposition : he can not 
bear that I smile or speak kindly to other men. I have 
no ambition for the door-posts of your drawing-room, 
and your lions must be taken with flattery. More- 
over, society sets an embargo on a bride, and without 
assurance I dare not venture. 

Isa. You have changed mightily. 

Sibyl. 'Tis not strange, either: our delights of 
eighteen seem insipid at twenty-five. 

Isa. Twenty-four. 

Sibyl. And three months. Heigh-ho ! Yes, 
mother, I am heartily sick of the best people. I can no- 



44 Sibyl. 

longer dote on a prett}' gown, nor jump into ecstas}- 
o'er the latest figure of a German. I forget to giggle 
at a stupid remark, and can not stare in amazement 
when a stale gossip is for a tenth time told me in one 
evening. ^Irs. Brown's china fails to excite my en- 
thusiasm, and all the wonders from Home to London 
with size and date correctly labeled can not make me 
regret tliat 1 remained at home while she travelled. 
Her dear son's conversation is to me all nonsense, 
and his valiant moustache but a tuft of hair. You see, 
I am somewhat disenchanted with the gay world ; the 
anatomy of a new dish or a chapter on metaphysics is' 
more to my liking. 

Isa. You should endeavor to please Edward. 

Sibyl. And he. me. 

\_Exit ISAHKI., 

I will not be unhappy. 
Nor shall my young days droop within a shadow 
Because ambition wc>oed the entire sun 
And wooed so much in vain. Alas! proud heart. 
1 never knew your worship would demand 
Or this or none at all. But we are humau. 
And therefore is our Father merciful. 
It were unchristian justice if a slip 
(^f yesterday did drag unendingly 
Into the last to-morrow. And for what': 
Will Edward's ear tind music in the clash 
Of our discordant souls? 1 do not think so. 
But what 's the use of my not thinking so. 
Committed as 1 am. It rests with him. 



SibyL 45 

Ho must pass sentence, he retains m} bond, 

Which pledge and i)romise, freely undertaken. 

Shall not go by default. T am his wife 

Unless the hazard of our covenant 

Prompt him to break it off. — 1 feel it now, 

The rigid finger of fatality 

Must mark my course. Let honor pluck me hither, 

And inclination hence, I can do nothing, 

But like the victim of contending robbers 

Stand still and suffer l)oth. — Where is my book? 

'Twas evermore a physic for our pain 

To know that others weep as well as we. — 

O what a skilful artisan was he 

That did construct a glass so true and even 

That all humanity ma}^ pass before, 

May gaze and ponder on the lineaments 

Of his own visage, which he ne'er had seen 

Save by reflection from the wizard glass. 

EiitP/r EI)^VAU1). 

Edw. You keep late hours, Sibyl. 

Slbf/l. Is it late? 

Edw. Past midnight. 

JSih)/I. So it is. Time flies apace. 

Edw. He limps with me. 

Sibyl. 'Tis but our state of mind 

Makes him to halt or fl}^ ; that clips his wing, 
Or sets another pinion in his back 
To speed his journey. But it is not so: 
The senseless bird moves with a measured stroke ; 



46 , Sibyl, 

He stoops not to prolong an infant's life, 
And when our vSavior bled upon the cross 
Compassion could not urge him to o'erfly 
One moment of his pain. 

Edw. That may be true. 

But wherefore do you chidejuy harmless comment 
With a set phrase? I do of late observe 
You make't your business to extenuate, 
To fringe my words with gloss and marginal, 
To use them like so many pegs in the wall 
To hang your wits on. 

Sibyl. What a man are you? 

But yesterday you took me hard to task 

Because the tenor of your eloquence 
Sang to a speechless echo. Modestl}' 
I answered j^es and no, and did offend you ; 
While now — consistency ! 

Edw. You are perverse. 

When I do say it rains, need you reply 
That we should wear a sunshine in our heart? 
And when I speak of a departed friend's 
Untimely taking off, is that a cue 
To moralize on death, and to opine, 
That Providence, if 'twere a loss to die 
Had made all lives one length ? What does it mean ? 
Are my occurrences to you so foreign 
That you should cut them with a monosyllable? 
And when I talk of others, shall I not 
Pronounce a single word of praise or blame 
For fear that it will prick a waspish nest 



Sibyl. 47 



Of CNjuity and law and compensation? 
Voii know I hate these generalities. 
"What book is that? 



Sibyl. 




A novel. 


Edir. 




Ilas't no title? 


Sibyl. 


Yes : 


Wahlverwandschaften. 


Edw. 




Speak it in English 


Sibyl. 


The book is German. 


Edw. 




So I hear. 
Elective 


A-llinities. 






Edw. 




How? Let me see it. Goethe. — 



Sibyl, 1 charge you by the pledge eterne 
Whose emblem glistens there upon 3'our finger 
(iive me the truth: is not this book from Clifford? 

Sibyl. Yes, sir. 

Edw. Dare — 

Sibyl. Hold ! So far I answer you 

Like catechism. Pray, be wary now, 
For you have pushed our converse to a path 
Whose danger craves a far more steadfast foot 
Tlian we now walk withal. 

Edv:. You are my bride. 

And anything that goes twixt you and Clifford 
I may demand by right and privilege. 

Sibyl. And do it in a manner that beseems 
Civility as well. 

Edic. What is between you ? 

Sibyl. Nothing. 

Edw. He is mv foe. 



48 Sibyl. 

Sibyl. That is not true. 

You ma}" be his. but he was never yours. 
Xor ever will be. You misjudge the man ; 
His pride would never stoop to enmity. 

Echo. He dare do nothing in an overt act. 
But like a coward he assaults my peace 
Behind your lenity. 

Sibyl. Leave that to me. 

If you are satisfied I hold him dearly 
It shows a lack of breeding on your part 
To cast an insult on my estimation. 
He was a friend of mine ere I was yours. 
And is one now. The least I ask of you 
Is to respect my friends. 

Edw. But Clifford, never ! 

Forget not. we are almost man and wife : 
It ill befits your place and reputation 
To hedge the man I hate. 

Sibyl. Now, by the mass, 

Your provocation shall not raise a hair 
Of my distemper. You are choleric ; 
But patience, allied with a tinge of pity, 
Makes due allowance for the uncurrent coin 
Of a hot tongue. I should be very sorry 
To use an unkind word ; but let me tell you, 
That buncombe threats and noisy demonstrations 
Are shallow arguments. If 3'ou would teach me. 
Regard me as a pupil past the age 
Of switch and reprobation. — As to Clifford. 
If you bear any foolish hate towards him 



Sibyl, 4^ 

I'ln not to blame for that ; nor am I bound 
To sliare your foibles. 

Edic. Still, ^'ou were content 

To be m}' wife. 

Sihyl. Because you swore 3^ou loved me. 

Edn\ And so I'll swear again. Great God in 
heaven, 
Is not the anxiety of my fearful heart 
Full proof of that? 

Sibyl. Prove it some other way. 

Nobility in love delights in trust; 
Your jealousy is common to the passion 
Of beast and barbarous men. 

Ecliv. Sibyl Harvey, 

If you and Clifford move clandestinely, 
My curse light on you both I If you play false 
And he o'ertrump me, may the wrath of heaven 
Dash ail the plagues of Egypt on his head. 
Nor shall 30U prosper : fly where'er you will 
The spectre of my madness will pursue 
Your footsteps to the grave. No secret hour, 
No deep recess, nor solitary darkness. 
Shall 3ield obscurement to your sinful passion. 
Yea, at the very door of your indulgence. 
While yet the heart throbs in expectancy. 
Let recollection of your monstrous guilt 
Strike passion dead, congeal your quivering limbs 
To rigid marble. Sib^d ! stay, I say! 
Deny these accusations ; make me see. 
That my surmisings violate our peace 

— 4 



50 Sibyl. 

More than jour trespass. Let me have some proof 
Of 3'Oiir fidelity. 

iSihiiJ. Not for my soul 

AVould I descend to cancel jealousy 
AVith speech in my behalf: I am too proud 
To beg opinions for mine honesty. 
If you believe me false, wh}', then to you 
1 am not honest. 

Edw. You have juggled with me, 

And interchanged the largeness of devotion 
With an exhausted heart. — Tell me, I pray. 
If Chfford was the goal of your affection, 
How comes it that you are not Clifford's wife? 

Sibyl. Your question is a bold one. 

Eihv. Answer it. 

You blush. 

Syhil. 1 did not marry Henry Clifford 
Because — he did not asl< me. 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I. — Appomattox. 

Before Clifford's Tent. Sentinels. 

Clif. But yesterday the iron heel of Mars 
Pressed our fair country's bosom, while o 'er night 
Heaven sent his- white-winged messenger of peace, 
Staying the vengeful god. Our great commanders 



Sihyl. 5 1 

Have shaken hands like reconciled brothers, 

And now our family shall no more be rent 

With feud and quarrel. Every prodigal 

Is welcome home ; and ne'er a wayward son 

Will henceforth seek to lessen our estates 

With severance of his own. The wars are done, 

And many a fruitful acre that hath pined 

Four barren seasons will again receive 

The (quickening thrill of the plow. The vaulting steed 

AVill lose his mettle, and with lowly neck 

Trudge diligentl}^ in the furrowed field 

With trace, and line. The grimy cannoneer. 

Whom yesterday the belching guns of war 

VVrapped in a sulphurous cloud, forsooth, will be 

To-morrow's plough-boy. But, how is't with me? 

I go from war without to war within. 

O, what a fool was I. — William, 1 say. 

Enter William. 

William. Aye, aye, sir. 

Clif. Bring some candles to my tent. 

\_Exit William. 
This ever wavering Hamlet is the curse 
Of our intelligence ; an evil angel 
Who temi)ts conceit, making us to believe 
That we can lift the curtain of to come 
With present cogitation. 'Tis not so : 
The future is the future's mother, still. 
We dreamers are no less beloved by women 
Than sudden men ; but while the lamp of love 



52 Sibyl. 

Illumes our chamber, we do peer bej^ond, 

And in the outer darkness seem to see 

A thousand scintillations of our light. 

Some pale and some refulgent. Thus we muse 

In curious contemplation of perchance, 

What may, what may not be. We fall asleep. 

And lo, anon the man of action comes, 

Puts out our light — and then we start and wake 

To mourn what is no more. Oh Sibyl, Sibyl, 

I know" thou art impossible, and yet. 

This four year pageant with a hundred scenes 

Of battles lost and won, of give and take. 

Of buffet and adventure, fair and foul, 

Of camp and prison, conquest and defeat. 

Does not so much as hold a single day 

But thou in't wast remembered. God is just, 

And will not let his blessings far outlive 

Our recognition of them. She is gone. 

And since the catalogue of earthl}^ goods 

Holds not another treasure like to this, 

I'll shut the book where disappointment lurks 

In finite apparition. Let me delve 

Into the master volumes of the great. 

Whose daughter wisdom never yet was known 

To spurn sincerit3\ There lies my way. 

And though my suit be patient I shall find 

No contradiction there, no worm of chance 

To blast anticipation ere it ripe 

To realizing summer. William, hoi 



Sibyl. 53 

Enter William. 

Will. Aye, aye, sir. 

^^'^f' William, ere you go to l)ed, 

Tie up my baggage. 

Will. Aye. 

^-^if- Wake me betimes, 

For I would start to-morrow with the sun. 

Will. What, for the north ? 

^'^^f- Ves, where else should we go: 

The wars are done. 

Will. Ah, sir: I'm sorry for it. 

Clif. If I spoke honest I would say so, too. 
Strange, is't not? What a peevish thing is man. 
I do remember how I prayed to God 
This war might end ; and now the end is come. 
And still we are unhappy. Tell me, William, 
How fares the world without? 

TI7//. All topsy-turvy : the armies have run together 
like the pied spots of a gown that wouldn't wash. 
The blue and the gray are promenading about the 
.streets as if they had paired off for a dance: an 
honest pack of cards was never so well shuttled as 
these are. The devil himself couldn't make them 
light again. Talk about principle ; why, there is no 
more character in these fellows than in a, in a 

Clif. Patience, William. 

117//. I saw a dozen of them carousing in a rumshop 
y«)nder with the powder still on their faces ; and some 
who had yesterday willingly cut off their left arm to 



54 Sibyl, 

kill each other with the right, are now shaking dice for 
the drinks. It's disgusting. 

Clif. The uniform, William. Strip that, and all is 
natural. Your citizen is not so romantic as your 
soldier, but for all that he belongs to a higher order. 
Since men merely fight to attain peace, even so is the 
soldier the means and the citizen the end. 

Will If I had been General Grant, I'd have 
marched the whole rebel army, man for man, into 
Washington. 

Clif. Then had you been another Ctesar, William. 

Will. And was not he as great a soldier as Grant? 

Clif. Yes ; but if Civsar were now and Grant had 
been then — beware of comparisons, William ; they are 
all treacherous. 

Will. But may we not profit by comparing the like 
and dislike of great men? 

Clif. Not a whit : for all this difference and sim- 
ilarity is not of itself, but of our own making. It is 
late, William : bring the corporal to bed, and in the 
morning let the coachman rise. 

Will. Hang the coachman ! Pardon me. Major 
Clifford, but I must swear when I think of it. I shall 
now re enter a world where there is no distinction but 
money, and money I have none. Ah, Major Clifford, 
what a glorious institution was our army, where merit 
alone made the man. A hundred thousand of us, and 
for money it was all one. Rich and poor, we slept in 
the same blanket and awoke to the same drum. The 
winter's snow fell on a hundred thousand backs, and 



SihyL 55 

when the sweltering sun drew beads on one brow there 
were none dry. The march and the musket, the knap- 
sack and the provender, the diet and the dust, were 
alike to all. In the Wilderness we were sick with one 
heart, and at Richmond we wept with one joy. But 
this is now a thing of the past ; and after one lazy 
year of peace, this band of brothers will make war 
upon itself. Money will again be king, and his prime 
minister is selfishness. There can be no honest 
fellowship under his rule, for on the one side he infects 
the wealthy with avarice, pride and contempt for the 
less fortunate ; and on the other, his favoritism goads the 
poor man's heart into hatred, falsehood and rebellion. 
Clif. Oh, William, William, your lack of wisdom is 
monstrous 1 Dost thou think the world is crooked be- 
cause you squint at it? Reflect for a moment, and 
then tell me whether you still believe that an all just 
and an all wise Creator would permit this unequal dis- 
tribution of dollars and cents, if the happiness of man, 
his best creation, were conditioned by that? Open 
your mind's eye, William ; the proof of it will stare 
you in the face at every glance. This bugbear, w^ealth, 
is but a shallow deceit, and though it flaunt a show of 
happiness to the envious eye, it is often like the idols 
of India, merely washed with advantage. Mark you, 
I will not wTite a book against money in the abstract, 
but who of us cannot achieve some? The price of a 
thing stands to our need of it, like an inverted ratio : 
jewels, silks and champagne range high in mone3% food 
and shelter ma}- be had for little, the elements are free 



56 Sibyl. 

to all, and the delights of man, nature's miinilioenee 
and the treasure-houses of beaut}' and intellect, these 
coffers crammed with a heritage from heaven, could 
they but speak, would thank to be accepted. Do I 
en\\v the prince of merchants whose head whirls with 
speculation and whose children grow up in neglect? 
No. Do I covet the possessions of the wily counselor 
whose gold was begot of indirection? No. Do I long 
for the honors of a statesman whose reputation is as- 
sailed by slander and whose influence is besieged by 
beggars? No. By the Lord, William, had I the 
power to be translated into the almost worshipped 
president of our nation, the cares of greatness would 
suppress my wish. The justice of the world is om- 
nipotent, and his sceptre is compensation. You cannot 
buy love for a million, 3'et far in the distant North 
there lives a fair maiden, whose heart is yours, who 
hath sent you a hundred messages of affection, who 
prays for you day for day, to whom this day is a holi" 
da}' because now her William will return — and dare 
you rail against fortune? 

TI7//. To-night, to-night. Farewell. I go to-night. 

CUf. Nay, nay, to-morrow morning ; and remember, 
Our happiness is not so much dependent 
On what we do. than how we do it, William. 

{Exit William. 

Enter Walter. 

See, one approaches. Walter I 

^^\iL Ilalr (ireatCiod, 



Sibyl. 57 

I ineaiil to [)rovc' my informant a lie, 
15ut now I see his poison is as honest 
As thou art false. 

CHf. Our sins liave been forgiven. 

No more of tiiat. Come, Walter, to my arms. 
Let not the new-born union of our States 
<Trapple more close than we. 

Wal. I'm somewhat sliaken, 

And yet methinivs wiien last we s})oke together 
You were a southern man. 

CI if. Must I explain? 

Are not the covenants of this day's peace 
Whereto wild strangers clasp each other's hand 
Knougli for 3'ou and me? 

Wal. No, Harry, no. 

Five years ago your heart beat with the South, 
Your soul was wounded with a thousand wrongs 
Our people suffered. Then your liquid tongue 
Touched willi the perfect Justice of our claims 
Did l)reathe persuasion with an argument 
None dared disi)ute. And now, will man believe it, 
These four years you are weaponed with a sword 
That strikes your tongue. Such monstrous contra- 
diction 
Yawns like the Red Sea dry. (iive me some reason. 
\\y heaven. Hal, I know you are no woman, 
No coward, fool, nor villain, nor a man 
Whose conscience has a price. — l*ray, loose this button. 

Clif. You are not well. 

Wal. Hut awkward, verv awkward. 



58 ■ Sibyl. 

Clif. One arm gone, too? 

Wal. Tlie devil take his soiiL 

I care not for the arm, but 't made me mad 
To be unlisted so. 'Twas at Manassas: 
Some yankee horse swooped down upon our cannon 
Then in full play. Our gunners worked like fiends, 
And shot for shot did cram our howling monsters 
Chock to the teeth. There was no stir in the air, 
And so the sulphurous vomit of our guns 
Stood 'fore us Hke a wall. They burst upon's 
A horse, a flash, a sabre's nimble stroke. 
And then 'twas done. But we are quits together : 
I shot the damned blue-coat from his horse, 
And mounting in his saddle ere 'twas cold 
I 'scaped into our lines. 

Clif. I prithee, Walter, 

Consider, that you are an invalid. 
Shun this emotion ; for your jaded body 
Can not support the hot and fevery flush 
Your spirit now engenders. Let's to bed : 
To-morrow we maj^ speak of it at length. 

Wal. I will not sleep nor eat nor budge from hence 
'Till you confess your sins or show me mine. — 
I am not well, and heaven knows how long — 
Well, let it come. — I alwaj^s loved you. Hal, 
Being a man who never held opinion 
Too narrow for a world to stand upon : 
And whatsoever m}' rash temper spurned. 
Your counsel I did always look upon 
As better than my own. So help me heaven. 



SibyL 59 

I marched beneath the banners of the South 
For justice' sake ; and when I did so, Hal, 
1 thought the same of you. Was't God or devil 
That wrung your Southern heart that now it holds 
No drop of Southern blood? As you are wise 
Be honest now. INIy soul yearns for the truth, 
O give it me. 

CJif. By your enforcement then. 

And since I live in that philosophy 
Which proves to man that his intelligence 
Is like to God's, I'll speak it proudly, Walter, 
And need not stoop in lazy humbleness, 
Preaching that knowledge is unknowable. 
Our 3'oung republic 
Had not so many years upon her back 
As stars upon her banner ere a buzz 
Of discontent arose. Our land was large, 
Too large, for Rome is not so far from London 
As Maine from Mississippi. So it followed, 
These people dwelling many miles apart 
Engaged in occupation no more like 
Than climate, soil, location. As a river 
Bent on his eager journey to the sea 
Pursues the easiest course, so all these men 
Pursued prosperity as best they knew. 
But nature's difference whispered to the South 
Here lies the passage to my horn of plenty. 
And then in turn she spake unto the North, 
Look you not here, but there. Each went his wa}^ 
And in devotion to his selfish prayers 



6o SihyL 

Neglected worship for the general weal, 

From whence, though indirect, all blessings flow. — 

As you have seen two dogs fight for a bone 

When a full dish which they might eat in peace 

Stood next to them, just so our delegates 

Sent to the capital from north and south 

Have wrangled for the law these forty years. — 

As to myself, be it a vice or virtue, 

I shun extremes ; but being born in the South 

I do remember manv a grievous word 

I spoke against the overbearing North. 

My dreams went with the South until the day 

That southern Carolina had the front 

To dress the phautom ghost of separation 

With flesh and blood. That one word, separation, 

Struck every argument on tariff dumb, 

jMade abolition, freesoil, slavery, 

Too trite for gossip's tongue. She drew a dagger 

To strike America, to stab the soul 

Of this United States. 

Wal. ]Make me to see it. 

Let me have proof on't, for I still maintain 
No single government beneath the sun 
Can fashion laws and furnish liberty 
To such colliding interests. France and Britain 
Are nearer one. There had been no need of a war. 
If unmolested we had been allowed 
To forage for ourselves. The primal law 
Writ in the constitution of our fathers 
Permits secession. 



Sibyl. 6 1 

Clif. There's the dilftculty : 

It seems, l)ut is not so. — All fixed things 
In nature and in intellect are dead ; 
And so the spirit of our Constitution, 
If it shall be more than a temporal thing. 
Must progress with the spirit of the time. — 
(Jrant eleven States the privilege of secession, 
And, ten years after, six may claim it, too ; 
If six, then one ; and if a State ma}^ do it. 
May not a city rebel 'gainst a State? 
A citizen against the city's law? 
Accept the principle, and you accept 
The rule of anarchy, the right of wrong. 
Or, let us say our Union were divided 
But in two parts, e'en that necessitates 
A government of arms. Then each had conjured 
A jealous neighbor and an enemy. 
Ship but to Europe yonder, see how th6re 
The neighbor nations of one continent 
Must dress their limits with a fringe of steel. 
In time of peace their industry is war : 
You can not walk about their capitals 
But every footstep brings you face to face 
With men in uniform, God's best creation. 
Reduced and stunted to so base a thing, 
That he is but a symbol of brute force, 
A slander of himself and of his God. 
From north to south, from Ural to Atlantic, 
The vasty confines of their territory 
Swarms like a giant camp. There is no peace 



62 Sibyl. 

Save battle's preparation. See them sit 

Upon the extreme verge of their possessions 

Like empty wolves all eager to obtain 

A pass of vantage. So it had been here : 

Disrupt our union, and the next night sees 

Barrack and fort spring up along the line 

Like toadstools in a sick and rotten wood 

After a summer rain. Then men shall labor 

With sweatj^ brow to pile huge stones together, 

And drag loud thundering engines of destruction 

Against the line of the States. And if a stranger 

Inquire to know where this State doth begin 

And that one end, then shall he have his answer 

With cannon gaping in each other's mouth : 

While unto now it was our boast to tell him, 

That all the separation we acknowledged 

Was such a buried stone or a notch in a tree. — 

We are the latest nation of the earth 

And hold her first choice of locality. 

If we but weld our union to a unit. 

Our neighbors are the ocean and the lands 

Whom stress of climate renders dangerless : 

The spirit of advancement will not grow 

Where climate claims the best of man's atttention. 

For most of us the passion for our country 

Beats high enough to make us cleave together, 

And for the rest, so far I'll prophesy, 

'Twill not be very long ere they shall see 

How a prosaic forge of policy 

Welds each to all. Nor shall three thousand miles. 



Sibyl. 63 

As some have said, disturl) our unity : 

Our wisdom grew with our necessity, 

Till now the wizard genius of invention 

blocks space into a nutshell, laughs at time. 

And as the fabled giants did of old 

Make sport with hills and mountain, so do we: 

From Sandy Hook and from the Golden (iate 

We pluck New York and San Francisco up, 

And set them down no more removed and distant 

Than these two hands, O Walter, we shall see 

The proud bird of our country stretch his wing 

From sea to sea o'er forty sister States, 

Each one of whom were space and room enough 

To hold a cock-pit kingdom of the East. 

The bird of antique Jove hath here arisen 

Like Phoenix, and his law is liberty. 

With peace and freedom on his lofty crest, 

More seemly than a brow of burnished gold, 

This uncrowned monarch of the universe 

Shall in due time range to so high a pitch, 

That all the king-bound nations of the earth 

Shall see the revelation, strip their chains. 

And be, as we are, free. 

Wal. Amen to that. 

Clif. You are pale, Walter, and your husky voice 
Sings out of tune. 

Wal. I counterfeit the swan : 

My life was writ in passage with its cause, 
And Charon ships to-day. Hush ! let me speak. 
I have a world to tell 3'ou. Here are letters — 



64 Sibyl. 

O, is't not villainous ii man must die. 

You know the hand ; aye, they are Sibyl's letters. 

She is not well ; haste you to comfort her. 

Edward is out of joint, all goes amiss. 

You loved her once. — I pra^^ you read the letters, 

And if — here is an end on't. 

{Dies. 
Clif. Rest in peace. 

My erring brother, but my brother, still. — 
He spoke of Sibyl ; let me see these letters. 
Her pen runs not as even as it did : 
The hand is careless, and her characters 
Betoken much indifference, much despair. — 
Not married yet. This should be news to me, 
And 3^et I take it with no more surprise 
Than if it read twice two are not yet five. 
Four years, four years of nothing. Sibj^l, Sibyl. 
You'll square the circle sleeping ere 3^ou'll find 
Adjustment twixt 3^ourself and Ingraham. — 
1 will peruse these letters word for word : 
If they do sound like my conjecture muses 
Then by God's Trinity I'll speak to her. 
Edward, look to your laurels, mount your men, 
For Harry Clifford's in the field again. 



Sibyl, 65. 



ACT V. 



SCENE I. — Ingraiiam's House. 
Enter Edwakd. 

Edw. 'Tis but the feverish dream of a hot blood 
That paints these creatures with the rosy tint 
Of exquisite perfection, thralls our senses 
In adulation of a counterfeit 
Past angels fair ; but to our waking sight 
This rapt hallucination is not true. 
Sooth, Sibyl wakes and sleeps, eats, drinks and speaks, 
Observing every law and natural function 
That rules mortality. Now let me see : 
To marry her or else to break the bonds. 
Mine is the choice, for though she will not love me, 
The mettle of her honor will endure 
To wed me if 1 will. But, on that score, 
If honor bids her to respect that vow, 
Then honor bids me to release her, too. 
Honor. What is this lionor? Tis a tiling 
That J shall much offend if I insist on't. — 
And, if we join against her inclination, 



66 Sidy I. 

'Twill be example, that the weaker sex 

Can curb its motion better than we men 

Who plume ourselves with reason. Humph ! besides 

Since she was never mine but in a name, 

My loss is nominal. I can not purchase 

The jewels I would wear in a foreign mart, 

Where the true stamped-gold of my affection 

Goes like uncurrent coin. And shall I not 

Gain double vantage, if my profit come 

Directly through my conscience ? Break it off. 

'Tis my experience that we seldom rue 

What honor and expedience bid us do. [_Exit. 

Enter Le Noim. 

Xe N^om. I enter here e'en with the kind of courage 
That occupied our father, Hercules, 
What time he knocked against the gates of hell. 
Here comes my Cerberus, but woe the while, 
Where is Alcides' club? 'Tis out of fashion : 
Ten thousand years ago is not to-day ; 
And therefore will I meet him with a front 
Of penitence and low humility, 
Which like the reedy margin of a lake 
Presents no stern resistance to the wind, 
And so escapes the danger. 

Eyiter Ingraham. 

Ing. Leave my house ! 

Be nevermore so bold to come again. 
This is the very king-post of presumption : 



Sibyl. 67 

You steal my daughter, fly with her to France, 
And now your booty is secured by marriage 
You come to crave forgiveness for your theft. 
But sir, not set speech of apology. 
No lowly mien, nor show of deep contrition, 
Can move my pardon. 'Twas unmanly done ; 
It was a coward's act. Nay, save youx semblance. 
Your stagy antics will not pass with me. 

Le N. (Aside) Then for an honest shift. — I loved 
your daughter 
Without proviso and without condition, 
And for she held me well, I married her. 

Ing. Against my will. 

Le iV. I grant against your will. 

But had my love been set upon condition, 
E'en such a valid one as your consent, 
Had that advanced me in your estimation? 
I do not think so. You might rather say 
That Cupid's flight were mere cupidity 
If he would simply flit, I beg your pardon, 
Through Lucy's heart into your honor's pocket. 
And yet, believe me, your endorsement was 
A boon I rather held incompassable 
Than anything unwished for. But, good sir, 
I stood like Caesar at the Rubicon, 
Who did not ask because he knew the answer, 
And therefore crossed without it, — so did I. 

Ing. Where is my daughter? 

Le iV. Mr. Ingraham, 

I pray you, for a moment lay aside 



68 SibyL 

All personality, forget yourself, 
Do me the honor to assume my place. 
And tell me in good sooth, if you were I, 
Had you done otherwise? 



Ing. 


Where is my daughter? 


Le N. 


I'll bring you to my wife. 


Ing. 


My daughter. 


LeN. 


Nay, 


\lj wife. 


[Exeunt. 




Enter Sibyl. 



Sibyl. I could not raise this poison to my lips 
With a ton's strength. You little puny thing, 
What godhead may the mystic power be 
That ever weighs thee down? Come, tell it me. 
'Tis not the pangs of death, nor dread of burial 
In the wet, wormy ground ; I am no coward. 
*Tis not in pity for remaining friends 
Whose tears would How for me ; I am too selfish. 
It is not this, no, nor the dreamy doubts 
And idle speculations of hereafter 
On which the melancholy prince of Denmark 
Once wrecked his resolution. Not all these. 
Together with such scruples as we harbor 
Against designed and wilful self-destruction. 
Can stop our ears or shut our tempted lips 
Against this prime physician of all ills. 
But hope, aye, hope can do't. Let us be honest, 
And so confess that life's ill burning candle 
Will easier fiicker in a drop of hope 



Sibyl, 69 

Tlian in a sea of conscience. — Hope, all me, 
Where is my hope, that am in honor bound 
To love, not to abhor: to feel quick passion, 
Where I congeal with cold. — Patience, poor heart, 
Beat not rebellious while the bursting spring 
Leaps from the earth, and bids thee to l)egin 
The fifth year of thy grim captivity. 
Come, we will pray, there shall be no more spring : 
The rolling year shall stick in the wintry zone. 
Until a shroud of numb sterility 
Encyst the round earth. Thus from green to gray. 
From life to death, the world shall pass away. 

\_Exit. 

SCENE II.— A Strki:t. 
Enter Lk Nom and In(;kah.\m. 

Inrj. In England, too? 

Le N. (), yes ; we spent all winter 

In dear old England. For a month together 
We tramped about the streets of London Cit}", 
Where many a span of famous history, 
That in <jur recollection lay asleep. 
Was by some quick reminder conjured up 
And set before our eyes. Now here, now therC; 
A quaintish tavern with familiar name, 
An anti(iuated bridge, an ivied ruin, 
A moat and a wall nigh crumbling and forgot. 
Some gloomy castle uninhabited. 



70 Sibyl, 

Or stony tower built in the day of Rome, 
Would bring the age and the actors to our view 
As we had been there. 'Twas a kind of school : 
She saw the sights, I moralized the men, 
'Till Lucy's patience and my purse were empty, 
And then we started home. 

Ing^ And have no money? 

Le N, In Glasgow, by the bye, we met your 
brother. 

Ing. IMy brother, William? 

Le N. Aye. He told us all ; 

And should be happy to be reconciled. 
I have some letters for you in my baggage, 
Wherein he most sincerely asks your pardon 
For his rash temper. 

Ing. Better late than never. 

You see, they did not relish my selection, 
But ne'ertheless I married Isabel ; 
I crossed the seas and, having found some fortune, 
Could bide the time. But 1 am glad of this. 
Can you not fetch the letters even now ? 

Le N, At what hour do you dine ? 

Ing, At five. 

Le N. 'Tis well. 

I'll fetch the letters, and at dinner time 
Will help you to discuss them. Fare 3^ou well. 

\^ExU Ingraham. 
These good epistles written at my quest 
Shall turn his vision back some thirty years. 
Then shall my Lucy's most l)eloved father 



Sibyl. H J 

Hy virtue of these letters be convinced, 

That she is but as 'twere a print or copy 

Of his own self. Yes, 'tis a common fault 

That in our neigljbors we condemn an act 

Which self done we would praise. Is mine and thine. 

So white and black ? O frailty, most sublime : 

In me a virtue but in you, a crime. 

SCENE III. — Veranda and Garden. 

Enter Sibyl with a Letter ; Kate. 

Sibyl. Who gave you tin's? 

^^(^f^- The postman gave it me ; 

And for I knew the hand, I thought it best 
To keep it in my pocket for a chance 
To give it you myself. 

Sf^jy^' How long is that? 

Kate. Since noon. — O, lady, William is come back. 
You would not recognize him ; look, his beard 
Has grown so long. JUit he is awful lean : 
The rebels had him captured in a prison 
For a whole year, and gave him nothing else 
To eat except molasses. Horrible ! 
Now I will bring liiin to his flesh again : 
This summer we shall marry, and his name. 
In recollection of his prison fare, 
Shall be sweet William. [Exit. 

Sibyl. ( Reading) Postmark— Appomattox— 
I can not make it out ; nor is it wiiolesome 
To read in the moon. But stay, here is a light 



7 2 Sibyl, . 

Streams through the hittk'o. Why, whtit ails iiie now? 
1 tronible, and my lieart beats at my bosom 
As 'twere the consummation of all sins 
To see tiiis letter. 

(^Reads) Arun, I'ith. — INIiss IIakvky. — Vou will ob- 
serve from the postmtuk tliat I am again eonie home. 
Tntil the night of Appomattox it was not within the 
range of my intention to address you, whilst now 1 
feel constrained to request an interview. Perhaps 
this i)reeipitation will seem less offensive when you 
know that since my enlistment; which followed liard 
ui)on Ihe taking of Sumter, I have assiduously broken 
all bridges with the past. I aeeonn)lished this the 
more readily by serving under an assumed name. I 
will explain at leisure. Suffice it to say, that none 
but otlieial eommuuieations have reached me until 
three days past, when by the veriest chanei' 1 hear 
strange news. Unless you prefer otherwise I shall 
call to-night. II. C'lifmuji). 

To-night! 'Twill take a week to solve this riddle. 
And then a month to shape an answer for't. 
WU-M may he mean? How shall 1 speak to him? 

Entei' IjVCY and Cmikokd. 

JjUC}/. Sibyl! Where may she be. Sibyl! 
tSihi/l. I'm here. 

GliJ. There, thank you, now methiiiks I'll tind her 

out. 
Lvci/. My exit now : here plays a scene of two ; 
I'll stay the other actors for their cue. [E.n't. 



Sibyl. 7 J 

^%/. Well, sir? 

Glif. {Ankle) I H it the moon that looks so pule. 
I should have come in the day. What drops are these? 
I shook not vvIhmi (he ambushed ^iius of Ijje South 
Al)rid_i>e<l my refj^imcnl until the number 
Shrank to a corporal's guard ; ;md now I blencli 
To see the lily's pallor on a face 
Where once the roses Hushed. A i)i(e()ns chano:e. 
Or I or Kdvvard is to blame for this; 
And by my (iod it is the kind of sin 
'(iainst which we rather crave full punishment 
Than soft forgiveness.— Do you know nu;, Sibyl? 

Sibt/l. Uy sight, but not in purpose. Here's a note 
This instant come to hand. Tve not had time 
To weigh't, nor scrutinize what may be writ 
between the lines; l)ut, sir, it doth am.M/c me, 
That you, reflective of our formiT days, 
See Jit to seek me now. It was my fault, 
liut 'twas a weakness that a noble mind 
Had cured and not engendered. You have wronged me. 
What new ills do you bring? 

Glif. Is it so strange. 

That I, your one time well reputed friend, 
Should after four years absence feel a stress 
To hold a converse that in better years 
i'ame with the day's recurrence? 

Sihf/I. So it did. 

Hut times have altered ; nor iia\e you and I 
Escaped time's alteration. Pray you sit. 
Albeit a stranger to my former self. 



74 Sibyl. 

Yet so far do I slniro identity, 

'IMiat i iniiy ask and answer by the book. 

Whose formal phrase the eonnneree of our thought 

INlust need respect. — I see you have been in tlie war. 

Tliey say, our students phiyed the soldier well. 

And 1 believe it ; for the fresh remembrance 

Of great events and the courao^eous men 

Preserved in history and wise tradition, 

Would teach us that the noblest of mankind 

W^^re not content with life to merely live iirt. — 

'IMiink you we iiave attained a Uisting peace? 

Or is this but a truce or a lull in a storm 

That hence will rage again? — Why do you lix 

Your eyes on me in silence? Are my words 

So hard of comprehension ? 

Clif, Pardon me. 

Hut your tongue rambles, Sibyl. Do not seek 
To hide the ingrain tiuct of private grief 
Witli speech of general im[)ort. Why, I know not, 
Perchance the immortal part of us is kin, 
Or else it is a kind of Providence 
Whereby I see your spirit as my own. 

Sibyl. What do you see? 

Clff. That you are miserable. 

That 1 of all the foolish things on earth 
Have been most foolish. Help me to repent. 

Sibj/l. Hal Clifford! 

Clif. Stay, for that is little news 

Compared with all the tidings of distress 
Late fallen on mv ear. There is a breach 



Sthyl. 75 

Twixt you aiul Kdwiird. 

Sibyl. I shall faint away. 

() strange sensation — there, 'twill pass again. 

Clif. Let's walk awhile. 

Sibyl. This siioiild not startle me. 

It was a privy gossip to my frit^nds 
I'iiree years ago: 'tis now a common wash 
Of cooks and stitch-girls. 

Clif. Here's your wrap. 

Sibyl. Til is way. 

\_Exeunt. 

Enter Ki>vvaui). 

Edin. Ilerc Sibyl keeps \\va' customary walks, 
And little dreams that with to-night's encounter 
I'll give her pass-])ort to direct her vo^^age. 
Regardless of my own. Lo, where she comes. 
Iler white robes glint afar. And now methinks 
She's not alone. 1 marvel who it is. 
She loves no company when in her moods 
She walks her lonely vigils up and down 
Tliese winding courses. Hist! I hear a voice. 
Sibyl is speaking, and her words are tuned 
In lowly pitch and accents intimate. — 
They can not pass me here. Another voice. 
Clifford. Relentless villain. At thy sight 
Tiic chcriibini of mercy 'scaped my bosom 
And now the prince of darkness rushes in 
VVith all the troop of licll — and welcome be they. 
I fear no jiidiimcnt, for inv ^oul stands cjiar^ed 



76 



Sihvl. 



(iainst Clifford's ('()ust'i(MUH*. Lot him niiswor (mxI 

For iMv piM-vcrU'd spirit, lloro I swcnr, 

'riiat I will lu'vt'niiorc rclcnsc (his woiumii ; 

And for I know that slio would rnthcM- die 

Than bri'aU hor faith, I'll kcop Ium- as slu' is. 

Or olso sho'll join with (MilTord. TIum-c's tlu' wm\ . 

Slu' lovos nu' not, :md I'll not marry Ium-, 

Hnl kt'i'p Ium- to tlu* iMulino- of Ium- life 

Twixt prt)mis(' •nul rcdiMii[>tioii, bride and wife. 

{Exit. 
Kntcr Vx.wvoMu (onf »Sii5vi.. 

Sihf/I. I'll call (ov pen aiul paper, 
cur. Shall 1 frii-h if: 

iSfbi/l. No, Hal, not now; 1 have no (.'onraue Ud't 
To 1)0 alont\ 

Enter Katk. 
I'd have sonu' ink and papiM*. 
(Jo brinii" nu' yours, 

/uitc. IMiiu'? 

Sihi/I. \ cs ; aiul as you leave 

Turn up tlu* liohts, and set the lattice so 
That oiu' may see to write. 

[E,vft IVATK. 
I fail? what then? 
CI if. Kail, how? 
Sfhj/I. Sui)i)ose 

('/(/'. Well, what's the odds':' 

\ on staiul at zero nt>w, wluM*e an\ elianm* 
Must nei>d brinii' sonu'thinii. 



Sibyl. 77 

Sibyl. Sonicthin*^ it shall hriu}^. 

Cllf. VVliat desperate deed hath no salvation in it, 
WIkmi 'lis to do or nothing? 

Sibyl. I will do it. 

Enter Katk withjum, ink and paper. 

'I'his ni^ht shall see an end on't. — Wait a minute. 

[SiHYL writes and (jivea note to Ka tk. 
I)(diver this to ll(!V('r(!rid I'l'inhlcton 
With all dispatch: i i)ritht;e, hasten ivatc, 
We'd have him at an instant. \_JlJxit Kati:. 

Am I not 
A njodcl of obedience!? ("omc now, Mai, 
Wiiat oeewpation next? I must have work. 
When I l)('<jjin to thinU my iicjul ^ocs ronnd. 
Yea, likt! a mason on the steeple's top, 
\W hav(! my work an inch before! my (!y(!S, 
Lest I do S(;e my dan;j;cr, scc't and stumble. 
What next. 

Ciif. 'J'en minutes pal:i(!n(;e. 

Sibyl. Look you, ILiI, 

If I liMve l)(M!n too lib(!ral in my spe(!ch. 
Do but remember I liavc! no oru! (!ls(» 
To speak or think to. Why I c:ui not tell, 
JJut whereso'er this matter came to words, 
And I liave heard it o'(!r tlu! entire; scah; 
From pity to rebuk(', why it seemed to me 
As if all folk had lost tln-ir (comprehension 
And would not understand \i\v.. Ilerc!, to-ni«^ht, 
Vov tilt; lirst time have I relictvc'd my lieai't 



78 Sibyl. 

Without regret. — Our troubles are but half 
When shared with true conception. 

Glif. I were blind 

And senseless to our nature's delicate touch, 
If this unconscious freedom of 3'our speecli 
Failed to persuade me, that I still possess 
One corner of j^our friendship. 

Sibyl. Not a day 

But we in't were together. Heaven knows, 
But when I most endeavored to forget. 
Then most I did remember. 'Twas a sin 
'Gainst which I struggled like a lonel}^ man 
Caught in a quicksand ; every desperate move 
But whelmed me deep and deeper. 

CUf. Listen, Sibyl 

The lamp of reason is our best possession, 
But the blind god will never call for light. 
When we do paint him with his eyes unbandaged, 
Let's paint him with a crutch, for then he limps. 
Though 3^ou are bound by word to Ingraham, 
In spirit you are mine. You cannot love him — 
You can not marry him. It were a fault 
As damnable as my offense would be. 
If here I sought to pla}" on your affection 
Whilst you are Edward's bride. I love you, Sibyl, 
But would deserve the fate of Lucifer, 
If any word of love had crossed my lips 
Until these years of struggling misery 
Must make it patent to the simplest mind 
That you and Edward have unwittingly 



Sibyl. hQ 

Dared fate into the lists. What (Jod hath joined 

Let no man sever : if that word be true, 

Then likewise let no mortal undertake 

To join what he designs to keep asunder. — 

We luive devised a speedy remedy 

For this particular ill: the cure is doubtful, 

But like two bold physicians, we have ventured 

To cure the deadly sting of one disease 

By hazard of another. It were stupid 

To let the cancerous worm pursue his way 

To your life's core. These clouds already 'gin 

To pale your warm complexion. 

^''V- Yes, I know. 

The little color wherein some were kind 
To call me fair, hves no more in my cheek. 
And yet I am too well for my misfortune 
Wlien Sibyl's death remains the only cure 
For Sibyl's wretchedness. 

^W' Not so far yet. 

All sins must bear their proper compensation, 
And you have done atonement for your fault 
To the full sum. The wrong was tripartite : 
First mine, because my flattered vanity, 
Proud of his victories, stood not abashed 
E'en when it pillaged in the sacred shrine 
Of woman's love. I too am punished, Sibyl: 
I hate myself, and though I lived forever 

The pangs of conscience will survive me still. 

The fault is yours, that in a heated moment 
To be revenged on my indifference. 



8o Sibyl. 

You closed a compact which an hour after 
Made your flesh creep to think on. 

Sibj/l. Spare nie, Hal. 

Clif. And hist, though least, the fault is Edward's,, 
too. 
Albeit that his offense was rather passive 
Than active in't. Yet he is much to blame, 
Since he persists upon a bond that's forfeit, 
And no less void than I iiad made him promise 
To jump to the moon. Impossibilities 
Set in a pledge preclude a judgment on't, 
So reads the law. He keeps 3"ou on the rack 
From 3^ear to year, albeit he knows full well. 
That one less ticklish on a point of honor 
Had 'scaped his torture with impunity. — 
But here we are : the holy man is come ; 
Your foster-parents with him. Well, and good. 
There's sister Lucy and her husband, too. 
Now, Sibyl, play your part and play it proudly, 
Proud of yourself and truth. 

/Sibf/l. They are coming hither. 

Enter Inghaiiam, Isabel, Le Nom, Lucy, and a Priest. 

CUf. Good evening, reverend sir ; one word with 
you. 
{C({tfbrd, Sihi/J and the Priest converse apart). 
Litci/. When Edward hears of this. 
Le N. I pity him ; 

None can do more. Look you, my imp of sweetness, 
I can not tell what Edward's maxim is. 



Sibyl. 8 1 

For some nicn follow oiu', and some, aiiotiier : 
Trust not, but take, is mine, — at least in love. 

y.sa. Why, tliis is monstrous. Robert Ingraham, 
Will you permit such midnijrht business here? 
Your house, your name, your wife, your reputation, 
Will be disgraced forever. Canst not see? 
A man, a woman, and a priest iiave joined 
In black conspiracy against your son. 
There stands the bride. Oh shame, oh double siiamc ; 
And in your very house. 

Le N. Aye, there it i)incii(!s. 

///'/. 'J'hcy'll elsewhere, if not here;; all's one for 
that. 

Isd. K(hv;»r(l ! 

liiij. Would you summon all the house? 

Methinks, there's ami)le witness here already. 

Pi'Kist. (lood inndam, l(;t me — 

Isd. Never mind, sir priest. 

Kdward shall know it. 

Sihyl. I have sent for Kdward : 

'Tis h(! we stay for. 

Elder Kdwaki). 

Kdic. Wliat's the matter here? 

Le N. A wedding. 

Edw. Are you mad? Stare not at me. 

Le N. Nay, you should stare. 

Edio. Will none give answer? 

Le N. Look : 

A bride, a bridegroom and a minister, 
A troop of friends. Do these not answer you? 

-6 



82 Sibyl. 

tSibj//. I'ciuc, there ; 3-011 scoffer. 

Ze iV. She is to be married. 

Fdw. 'J'o whom? 

8ihf/l. Whom do you think? 

Eihr. ToCHfford! 

Hell :iik1 treason ! 

Sihi/I. See, liow I am fallen. 

Edward, I'd speak to you: — 'Tis now ahnost 
Five years sinee we contracted for a marriage, 
And slili we stand as then. 

Eihr. On your account. 

tinibf/l Not so ; for I, in all these many days, 
Stood ever ready to become your wife. 
Did 1 deny you? Did a thousand days 
Contain a minute or a single word 
Wherein I raised objection? If I did, 
I charge you as a christian and a man 
To tell it here. 

Edir. Hut Sibyl— 

Sihyl. Let me speak. 

Something shall happen, I am sick of it: 
My patience, pride, and honor chafe to death 
In this unnatural and hard condition. — 
I may have stained my maiden modesty, 
But here our churchman waits at my request 
To cut the surfeit of our dalliance off 
AVitli instant marriage. Are 3'ou ready? 

Edw. What ! 

'J\) me? 

Sd)f/l. To you? Whom else? (.) gracious heaven, 
1^1 1 I can bear that, too. Were I a man, 



Sibyl. 83 

Your insult had an answer that would set 
All (.'xauiple for such slander. Once for all, 
Are you content? 'Tis now or n(;v(T, Kdward. 

Edw. It were a sin to enter wedlock so : 
We have not spoke a word these two years past. 

Sibyl. Nor need we many now. Or yes, or no? 

Edw. You are not well. 

Sybil. Such as J am you made me. 

Ediu. Farewell. When you survive this ecstasy 
We'll speak together. 

Priest. Edward Ingraham, 

Are you not pledged to marry Sibyl Harvey? 
(Jr yes, or no? — Your silence gives us answer. 

Edw. (Aside.) This is a trick of Clifford's fabri- 
cation. 

Priest. Not only do the tenets of our church 
Demand fulfillment of this sacred promise ; 
But in the volumes of your temporal law 
There likewise rests provision that indicts 
A civil penalty on those who break it. 

Edw. {Aside) The pupi)et plays his part ex- 
tremely well. 
If I do say her yes, she'll say me nay: 
And if in spite she place her hand in mine, 
'Twere hell on earth for me. 

Priest. We stay your answer. 

Do you accept this lady as your wife? 

Edw. No, sirrah ; no. 

Priest. Then I pronounce her free. 

]iifj. Come, bear it like a man. 



84 Sibyl. 

EdH\ I^i'ay? leave your oouusol. 

J.ucji. He friends with Clifford. Sib}! was to you 
Liki' o\\(' of tlioso briiiiit wanderers of the niuiit 
Miglit he to him or nie. Tliey can not love us. 
Their realm is none of ours, they know us not, 
And therefore list unmoved to the song 
Of our deep i>assion, be it e'er so pure. 
A mightier demon than his puny self 
Stole your bright star away; and though, by chance, 
lie prove a iinppy winner in your loss, 
'Tis neither fault nor favor makes him so. 

Tsa. Trust mII to (uhI. Strange are the ways of 
heaven. 

Kdw. Aye, passing strange. How comes it, that a 
tlower 
In one man's hand falls off and wilts away. 
While at another's touch it doth unfold 
Like such another sinless paradise? 
Omnipotent, tl>y logic may be true, 
And may be wise, and just, and merciful: 
And yet (he occurents wlierein 1 was cast 
Have shook my faith. 

Tng. He patient, my good son. 

Do not forget, there is a compensation 
Which squares the good and evil of our lives 
Anterior to owv death. It may come late, 
Hut it will come. 



l^l^]|J^]MA(!l!lfS. 



A DIIAMA. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED 



ULYSSES, King of Ithaca. 
TELEMAOHUS, his Son. 

PEISANDER, > Suitors to Penelope. 
POLYBUS, J 

EUMAEUS, a Sirineherd. 

CYNICAL, a Goatherd. 

PENELOPE, Wife of Ulysses. 

DAPHNE, Daughter of Eumaens. 

Suitors, Ithacans. Servants, Attendants, tt if. /. 
SCENE— Ithaca. 



TELEMACHUS. 



Enter Prol()(;uk. 

The Prologue speaks to tell 3011, gentle hearer, 
'I'hat we have cast the action of our play 
In days so far remote, that print and powder 
Were yet unknown : men did not read nor write, 
And Clio, therefore, in her swaddling-clotlies. 
Could not record the passage of our scenes. 
Let it sutlice, the heart and mind of man 
Is ever one. We'll conjure up ambition 
With heaven's aid, and love, remorse and pity, 
Frailty and faith, pride, envy and revenge. 
And retribution. Tliese shall be our theme. — 
But since no thing we speak of ever happened. 
We shall not please the champions of the fact. 
The friends of dates, dimensions and of numbers, 
Who in their note-book have it all set down 
What is and wliat is not. These we'll offend. 
Offend and fear nought but the poverty 
Of their pure understanding. Such as these 
Conceive the gods on the ()lymi)ian seat 
As idols, all the Greeks idolaters, 



88 Teleniachus, 

And every legend of heroic man 

A fancy-monger's trick. — But we do know 

The fact to be an accidental thing, 

A child of chance, begot by myriad causes 

Into a world of infinite condition. 

See, History, how feebly thou art fathered, 

While Fable, what a parentage is thine: 

A people's spirit and an age's lore 

Created thee. — Now, friends, prepare yourselves 

To plunge with nie into the abyss of time 

Three thousand years — accept my proffered hand. 

Here lies our way ; and as we walk, remember. 

That if I fail to show 3^ou anj^thing, 

The fault's not in the fable, but in me, 

Who saw, but failed to let his brother see. 



ACT I. 



SCP^NE I. — A Part of the Island. 

Enter Cynical. 

Gyn. Perhaps it is and perhaps it is not. But one 
thing certain: if Jupiter did not visit these parts some 
forty years ago, I have good reason to be proud of my 
acquisitions ; being not even indebted for my wisdom 
to Jove. — And yet, 1 am an humble fellow, a meadow- 



Tel em a ch us, 89 

rambliii<r goatherd. Not, as it bus l)een said, hecause 
I lack ability, but because J have outgrown vanity. 
What possible benefit can we derive from the bustle 
and turmoil, plots and counterplots, deceptions and 
iliscoveries, that now possess this island? None what- 
soever: they will neither make the grass grow nor the 
sun shine. And, therefore do all these wars and 
triumphs, kings, princes and suitors, pass by me like 
the players in the theatre, whose honest achievements 
are not worth a cake of cheese. Still, to a man of 
leisure and inclination, the tendency of the time 
affords much matter for cogitation. There is a pro- 
found e(iuity in all things ; and nature'^i compensation, 
if w^e but have the wit of observance, will disclose to 
us a method of delightful precision. There is no bless- 
ing but hath its damnation. Now, there is my master, 
Antinoiis, feeding on my old master, llysses', sheep 
and drinking his wine; while my old master, if he be 
yet among the living, goes buccaneering elsewhere, 
possibly in Antinous' very home. Our good (jueen is 
beset with suitors ; but this excess of choice surfeits 
her appetite for choosing, and she must die of starva- 
tion like the famous ass. Telemachus, the heir to 
Ithaca, is a slave to Cupid. — Next time I meet him, he 
shall prove to me why the happiness of humanity de- 
pends on his marriage with none but Daphne. Divine 
simplicity ! Why, half mankind are women ; and I 
marry one, not because she excels all others, but be- 
cause I have not taken pains to discover one that is in 
my estimation more excellent than she : thouoh in all 



90 Telemachus. 

likelihood there be many such. — But soft, here Daphne 
comes. 

Daphne, singing without. 

There was a great city beyond a great sea 

Famous in war and in glory; 
Priam was King, and a son had he 
As gay and as gallant as any could be: 

Paris, the prince of my story. 

Enter Daphne. 

But Paris and prudence went ever astray, 

Cupid alone was his master: 
He journeyed from Ilium to Sparta one day 
And stole Menelaus' fair Helen away, 

Heedless of any disaster. 

No sooner had Paris with Helen set sail, 

Helen, the pride of her nation, 
Than each mighty monarch put on his mail; 
At Aulis they gathered in spite of a gale, 

Aulis, the ultimate station.— 

Nine winters and summers they battled in vain 

Wasting the fields of Scamander; 
A thousand brave hero(!S and horsemen were slain. 
But none could the beautiful Helen regain.— 

Tell me, was none to unhand her? 

O yes, little Ithaca isle of the sea. 

Hail to Ulysses' endeavor: 
He captured the city and set Helen free, 
A master of mighty invention was he. 

Praise him for aye and forever. 

Cyn. And you would persuade some of your ad- 
miration to descend from a dead father to a living son, 
I see a gosling that might grow into a swan. 

Daphne. I thank you. Cynical. 

Cyn. Nay, keep your thanks 

Until there is more merit for your bounty : 
For, Daphne, you are still a little goose. 



Telernachiis, gi 

Daphne. And you're a crow ; a black, benighted 
crow, 
Among your fellows you are fond to sit 
Upon a dead limb of a barren tree 
To chatter and to caw. The scented wood, 
'i^he dripping meadow, and the tlowery hills. 
The merry minstrels, who on silken sails 
Divide the limpid ocean of the air, 
The paeans that the golden insect sings 
With buzzing pinions to the genial sun. 
And ever}^ other ecstasy of nature. 
Excite your splean ; and then you vent your anger, 
Because a quarrelsome and testy crow, 
A rumpled, slovenly, untidy bird, 
Is out of tune with sucli a symphony. 

Cyn. Here comes your peacock. Let him be ad- 
vised, 
Antinoiis dotes upon his gaudy plumes. 
He should be kept a little under cover ; 
For if he spread his feathers all too proud 
Near my young master's eye, 't will not be long 
Before the purple robe of Ithaca 
Flows from Antinoiis' shoulder. Let him look to't. 

Daphne. You dare not tell him so ])efore his face. 

Cyn. Therefore, I say it now behind his back. 
Farewell, my little gosling. [Exit. 

Daj)hne. Caw, caw, caw ! 



92 Telemackus, 

Enter Telemachus. 

Tel. My Daphne's station is my journey's end. 

Daphne. Is't not a random journe}^ noble prince? 
A chance occasion and a chance discover}-? 

Tel. Had I been Ceres, you my Proserpine, 
I had not searched so well. Where have you been? 
I rummaged up and down, in field and forest. 
In every pasture, at your father's house ; 
And in my pilgrimage I called aloud 
Until the silent forest found a tongue, 
Till every echo answered Daphne's name, — 
But not a voice came back, Telemachus. 

Daphne. I am right glad you found me. 

Tel. So am I. 

Daphne. To-night there is a roundel at our cot, 
And I must bind these blossoms for a crown 
To grace the nimblest shepherd in our dance. 
Come, sit 3^ou down: you have a skillful hand. 

Tel. Be that your business. Daphne. Let- me lie 
Here by your side, and see the gentle buds 
By gentler hands consigned to s^^nmetry. 

Daphne. This white rose, look you, did I bring for 
you. 
And yet it was unkind to pluck it off. 
To break the stem e'en while the modest e3'e 
Let fall a glistening tear upon my hand, 
Weeping as't were for its untimeh^ end. 

Tel. I'll be your flower. Daphne: such a one 
As Clytie grew to be when she persevered 
To court the favors of the tlaminff sun. 



Tcleinachtis. o^ 

Slie lifts lier head to drink Ai)ollo's kisses 
While yet he lingers with the blushing d'lwn ; 
And as he thunders o'er the plain of heaven, 
She turns from morn to noon, from noon to night. 
Bending her constant visage on the god 
Until the day is done, and J*hoel)us plunges 
On l)lazing chariot in the western sea. 

Ba}}hne. She loved too lofty, and you look too low : 
You are a prince, and I, a shei)herdess. 

Td. Well, what of that? 1 grant you, rank and 
title. 
Fit order and degree are commendable 
Where seeming man convenes with seeming man : 
lUit that alMnity which i)rompts my soul 
To seek salvation here or not to lind it. 
Transcends these base distincrtions and bears down 
Deceitful ceremony. Trince and peasant, 
Olympus' king and maids of mortal birth, 
Have, l)y the touch of this divinity. 
Renounced all earthy separance, and advanced 
Unto the shrine of Eros, like and like. 
( )li, judge not lightly of the little god 
That raised Anchises to the eager arms 
Of matchless Aphrodite, and drew down 
(Jreat thundering Jove, transformed to golden rain, 
Wlien he beheld the light of Danac's eyes. 

Dai)lme. Telemachus, have you forgot so soon? 
Td. Oh, chide not, Daphne: speak consistently. 
Or, if you can not, do not speak at all. — 
Consent to be my wife, and I will be 



94 Telemachzis. 

A shepherd like to you ; I will abandon 

All hopes of sovereignty ; the suitor-train 

May wrangle for the crown of Ithaca ; 

And be it his who wins it. I can see 

Within the wondrous mirror of your e3'e 

Ten thousand times more rare felicity 

Than all creation else is blessed withal. 

INI}^ courage fails to let my phantasy 

Paint scenes and actions from the days to come, 

Unless the star of your companionship 

Falls full upon my way. You are my world, 

My life, my sole ambition and my queen! 

Na}^, frown not, Daphne. I will clasp this hand, 

Until it yields, without which I must die. 

Withdraw your hand, and then, indeed, are mine 

More than a l>eggar's empty. All I have 

Lives in your love, and with your love expires : 

Then hath Telemachus nor home, nor kin, 

No friends, no fame, no hope, no an^^thing. 

Daphne. Why will you turn the tempest of your 
passion 
Upon the billowy waters of ni}' own 
To heave and sigh the more? Telemachus, 
I love as well and long for more than you : 
For while your fancy lights upon a maid, 
A simple shepherdess, whose happiest part 
Is easily excelled, my faith is pledged 
F'en to the ver}' paragon of men. 

Tel. Tell me, who is't? 

Daphne. I never knew his name. 



Telcmachns, 95 

7W. Of IMiac'ii? 

haphne. I hope so ; but, in sooth, 

1 know not if his frame be housed in cia}', 
Or, lii<e the liner spirits of the air, 
Disihiins to tread the earth, 

Tel. You love a dream. 

Daphne. I'erJKipsit is a dream: but since the day 
Tliat Cupid Uintlled his consuming fire 
In this poor timid bosom, T have been 
A constant votary; and, by the dint 
i)f ceaseless intercourse, his image now 
Stands in the virgin temple of my brain 
Like I'hoebus on the hill-to]) of the day, 
Without a thiAv, transcendent and supreme. 
To ecpial expectation he must come 
As bold a Jason, under whose connnand 
The far-famed Argosy was made to swim 
Kar up the Hellespont and Euxine sea 
E'en to the strand of Colchis, whence to gain 
The golden fleece ; and he must be as wise 
As your great father, for whose moving lips 
The surging multitude will hold their peace ; 
And if he be as fair as Paris was, 
Then shall he gather Daphne to his arms 
J^ike Neptune clips our island. [Exit. 

Tel. She is gone ! 

And now methinks 1 see my fortune's star 
Slioot headlong from the sphere, eclipsed and dead. — 
Whatever else futurity maj'- bring 
Of pain or pleasure, why, it matters not ; 



96 



Tvlonachus, 



For (^vcry (Mitr:mc(' to my riven lic.-iit 

Is so bt'sie^i'<l with \\\\\\< indinVirncc, 

Tliat nothiujjf can proceed from destiny 

I'd rjuHe ji l]n«rer for. My simple fjiit.jj 

Mistooiv the seemin«i^ kindness of tiie day 

For summer's joy, and reeked not., it mi«;ht, be 

Novend»er NJsoicd in the st,oh>n mask 

()r nu'llou June. Mow like a oossainer, 

Whom aninmn's snnny ^nise nlinred from liomi^ 

'l\) husk him in theeyt' of friendly Sol, 

With silken streamers Moating" on the bri'eze 

Until the boisterous wind and chilly rtiin 

Dash all his lilmy jj^lory to the <;round. 

So have I venturetl on a sea of love. 

And so my voya|»;e ended. Tell me, i^ods, 

What ji^rim offense ^rows with I'elemachus, 

That in your wrath yon ernsli him to the earth 

With mountains of allliction? Wiiy is this? 

lAIy father lost, my mother soon to wed, 

IMy ])ala(H' lilled, my friemis persuaded from nie, 

.My lawful substance scjittered to the winds, 

iMy life endan<i,ered by the shanudess men 

Who woidd usurp the rule of Ithaca; 

And last, and most of all, where I was merry, 

Where I had leaiiied to look lor recompense, 

Surceas(> :ind respite from the cruel lash 

()f unrelentin«»" fate, there nuist 1 lind 

A shadowy monster lurking in a spot 

Which 1 had hopecl my own. 1 have l)oi*ne nuich 



» Tclcffiachus, gh 

And borne it |)ati('iiMy ; hut licrc's m, j):m«r 

I dare not think on, it will mMU(^ nic mad. 

There must be sonicthin^r done, — I know not what: 

Hut Hotni^hin^r „uist be done! [Exit 

SCENK \\.—lii>fore Kimakis' Jlut. 
Ki'MAKiis. hhitcr Cynical. 
Cyn. (V)nie, lively, lively, old boy. Antinoiiw and 
liis train have returned from hiintin^r, wherc^ he hath 
killed a jrreat boar. Therr is miurh rej()i(;in«r at the 
palace, and justly; for so formidable a lu-ast there is 
not another in all Jthaea. In celebration of his vic- 
tory, Antinoiis has ordered a siimptnons bancinct; and 
if the clamors for meat and drink be any indication to 
Imn^ror :,,i(i thirst, I (jxpeet many a little carth(|iyda' 
before mornin^r. | |<.fj ji,,.,,, ;„ |,„. ,,„^|,^. .,,j^, ^, j^. ^^^ 

preparation: the hall is polished, the lircs arc kindled, 
the kettles are steamin«r, the women are <rrindin««- ..,,id 
l»:iki|i^r, iiyQry uncracked jar is drawn brimful of the 
l)eHt win(;, and I come this way with ordery from my 
master, Anfinoiis, that yon brinrr ten fattened swine 
to th(! palae(! ininic.li:itely. None of yonr lean and 
sera^r^ry rascals, bnt ten w(;ll-fed, jnicy porkers. 

Eum. What, ten porkers at a iiu^al? 

Cipi. And (|iiickly, too. 

Kuni.. How brave th(!S(! feasters are while he whoso 
proj)(;rty they are wasting- is far away: yet, on my 
life, if ClyHses should return to-ni^r|,t ..,nd appear at 
the festive bo.-.rd. 1 heir craven lica,rts w^)nld so (piickly 
j'iNij' into their nioiillis, they (tonid not eat a, bite. 



gS Tele nine has. 

C\jn. \N'liy, he is deiid t'lnd rotten loii<»: ago. You're 
vviistiDii" tiiue. 

Eum. 1 will obey, because I know it would be use- 
less to resist ; but it goes against m^^ will. Truly, 
Cynical, if ever a day of reckoning come, the house of 
Ithaca will lind itself but little indebted to you for 
lioiu'st s('r\ ice. 

Cyti- III accordance wi(h uiy nature: I encourage 
debts only as a debtor. And It^t nu' tell you one 
thing, l^.niuaeus: he may be a wise master that knows 
how to choose a good servant, but, truly, he is a wiser 
servant that knows how to choose a good master. Now, 
jndge for yourself : is not Antiiunis a more substan- 
tial master to me than Ulysses to you? 

Eum. Vou served lUysses once. 

Cyn. Aye, truly ; and may do so again. For, if 
as you say, he will sonu' day return and make war 
upon Antinoiis and the other princes wiio are making 
merry willi his possessions, there is not a man in 
Ithaca will endeavor to win Ulysses' favor more than 
1. Circumstances — but, let me see: You were once 
a prince, Kumaeus? 

Evm. I was. 

Cyu. And your father, king? 

Ein)i. Of Syria. 

Cyn. (Jood. And you are now a slave? 

Euni. 1 suppose 1 am. 

Cyn. And would you give me to understand that 
a system of society permitting a prince to be upset 
into a slave, will expect from such a one other service 



Tele in (ic/i us . 99 

iliMii ciiikIikjcm 1,0 his own :i(lv;iiic('mi'iil ? (io (o: v<mi 
:iiT (lull, I'iiiiii:i('iis. I'';ir(' yon well, :iinl It'iid yoiif 
swim"; for \(»ii <I<'S(MV(' no bcMcr I'nic. IjcI IImmii in- 
crease Icn, liri.y, yrji, m, Inindicfl lnld, .ind your service 
slijill not even Uavv. ho inueli pay aw MM'tiuinks ol I hose 
tlial HU^al {,\w\n from you ; Mioun^ii Mint, nielhinks, wert; 
little (Mi()U}j;h. IveinendM'r, ten f}i,t |)orkers. 
Eivni. Where :ire your «j;o!i,ts, ('yiiienl ? 
C////. Ill hr;i\«'n, l<iUniM,eus. hut, lo set ji,si<le .ill 
joHt an<i spe.iU in honrsi \ , here your wit may !i;j,;iiii 
j)rolit hy my e\;im|>le, ;ui(l behold another pioof how 
well my |)liilosoi)hy is :Ml:i|)led (,<► these times. My 
Jnasters, you see, ."tie miieli <-on<'erne(| ;iliout my wel- 
f.'ire. Mild fe.'U'injjf too much l;il)or mi^lit impair my 
licMlth, luLve cjitcMi :i.ll my ;j,();itM, ;iiid now my olliee is 
a sinecure. | KxU . 

PJioii. However h.'ippy ycm may seem to he, 

riir \i'\\ ellort to impjirt (he rcMisoFiH 
r'or your feli(Mty, let um' lo know, 

rii.'il in Hie hours of icst and solitude, 
Vour spirit lacks tiiat glad H(»renity, 

Which iiol)le minds e()n(aM.l(! IJieir }j;r(!n,teHt fjfoocl. 

You wmIIow in ;i, pool of <rontr;uii<^ti()ii, 

I'll Htrivi! to set my (rraft upon the strejun 

Of Jove's behest M.nd unlversnl Imvv. ( /''.n'f. 

Kidcr TKi.KMAcmis. 

Tel. Posterity will hold me in contempt, 
And ".gossip's tonnrue will fejisi upon my shaimr 
With lusty appetite. Will't couk! to this? 



lOO Telemachus. 

Aye, more: the very tenure of my tribe 

Will be to bury me sans resurrection; 

And in the conduct of my obse(iuies 

No weazen, mumblinii^ crone shall lack a part. 

For when the rulliaii northwind sounds his blast, 

And merry children leave their summer haunts 

To rolhc by the hearth, then will they flock 

About their grandam's knee, and beg, and beg, 

Until she yields, and with an antique story 

Holds every infant fancy in a spell. 

She will o'ercount the kings of Ithaca: 

How first Arcesius made this rugged isle 

A hospitable home ; and next his son, 

Laertes, in whose vineyard grew the wine 

That Bacchus brought to Jove ; whose well-fed flocks 

Of sheep and cattle were as numberless 

As flshes in the sea ; and next to him 

Comes that Ulysses who set out for Troy, 

Whose word in council and whose skill in war 

Achieved for him such greatness and renown 

As balk comparison. And after him? 

His name is never mentioned since the day 

He (luit his temporal vestment, for the muse 

Of history declines to speak of him, 

Unworthy of remembrance. — This is I, 

Who like a dead man, ready for the shroud. 

Awaits the darkness of oblivion's cloud. \Exit, 



Telejnachus. loi 

SCENE Ul,—The great Hall in Ulysses' Palace. 
ANTiNOiis, Peisander, Polybus and other Suitors. 
( TJie surroundings intimate the last stage of a ban- 
quet. Many suiters have fallen asleep. Women in 
attendance. ) 

Ant. Some drink, Melantho: fill our barren cups 
Until the frothy wine o'ertops the brim. 

Peis. Our eyes in tears would grace us better far 
Than lips in wine ; for do but see, Antinoiis, 
How many sturdy bulwarks of our host 
Lie struck with Bacchus' lance. 

Pol. Come, some for me. 

Ant. Why, how now, Polj^bus, my round old man ; 
Peisander numbered you among the dead. 

Pol. But wounded, sir; and yet I hope to perish. 
As nightly I have done these twenty years. 

Peis. This boy of Semele is barbarous. 

Ant. What think you of your executioner? 

Pol. I worship him. 

Ant. By Juno, so do I. 

Come, who'll pronounce a toast? 

Peis. By your good leave, 

Do I propose we drain our final cup 
To sage Penelope, our gracious queen ; 
In whom the quality of natural gifts 
And rare accomplishments are so perfected, 
That every royal household sends a prince, 
A suitor for her hand. 

Suitors, Long live the queen ! 



I02 Tclemachus. 

Pels. And wo, lier valiant slaves. 

Ant. "Pis very true : 

For as a liaiid of charitable crumbs 
Cast out of a window on a frosty day 
Invites a llocU of sparrows, oven so 
Her fame and fortune 1111 this anti(|uo hall 
With warhUe men. 

J*ol. Let's have another. 

Ant. No. 

Light me a taper, girl, and lead the way: 
'Tis time for honest men to go to bed. 

/V/n. What, needs a toreh? See, how the wily sun 
Is eome upon's, and with a golden straw 
Tickles yon sleepy fellow on the pate. 

Ant. Let us within. 

Peh'<. Here comes Telemachus. 

Enter 'Viaa'.mxcuvs. 

J^oL The devil take him. 

'Td. Did you speak to me? 

7*<)/. Aye, sirrah. When I was about your age 
It was a custom to salute our elders 
With some respect. 

Tel. That, sir, is still a custom 

Wlien these same elders are respectal>le : 
Ikit such a pack of drunken vagabonds 
As nightly keep their wassail in these halls, 
I loathe to look upon ; and if there be 
One particle of justice loft in heaven, 
Your shameful wrongs will not be unavenged. 



Tel 6711 achus. 103 

Pels. Wliat, will you slay us all? 
Tel. Most willingly, 

Had I the means to do't. IJiil, this same clay 
I go from Ithaca to seek my father ; 
And if my Journej^ bring me to his face, 
With clamorous tongue will 1 relate to him 
llow you have seized upon his vested rights. 
Defamed his orderly and well kept house 
Into a toi)er's lodge. 

Pels. Perhaps you'll lind iiiin 

At old Eumaeus' hut. 

Ant. (iood, good! 

Tel. I'eisander, 

Do not presume too much upon my youth. 
Vou may abuse and fling your insults at me 
As oft as you see fit; but, by the gods, 
Vou shall not slander any friend of mine, 
However poor she be. 

Ant. Telemachus, 

Let me advise you that the sen is wet, 
And on the water there are (!vil men, 
Who have a predilection for a prince. 
To steal and sell in slavery. Old Eumaeus 
Is such a stolen prince. 

Tel. I know full well 

The sea liath perils, and I also know 
That pirates roam upon the lishy deep, 
Who spurn the law ; yet 1 am proud to say, 
That if I were compelled to take my choice 
Twixt that and this, — by heaven I'd r;ither sink 



I04 Teleniachtis . 

Into perpetual bondage, than to rise 
Upon a friendl}'^ monarch's sacred home, 
And there molest his queen with hateful suit. 
Squander the merit of his husbandr}', 
Corrupt his women and abuse his men. 
As you have done, Antinoiis. 

Ant. Hold your tongue ! 

Rash boy, I can not brook such raillery. 

Pel's. Nay, let it pass, Antinoiis. Come away. 
Will you go quarrel with a saucy bo}'? 

Ant. I'll beat him like a dog. Unhand me, sir. 

Tel. Strike, if you dare offend the gods so much, 
To kill an orphan in his father's house. 

Peis. {To Antinouii) Be ruled by me; nay, I 
will have it so. 
Why, man, have you forgot the learned bard 
Who told us, men in wine should ever quarrel 
Among themselves, and seek not to offend 
A sober man. However brave they be. 
The odds are one to nothing. Let us in. 

Ant. We'll meet again. 

Tel. I hope so. — I ntil then 

Carouse and swagger to your heart's content. 
Abuse all sense of hospitality. 
Strip Ithaca as barren as a rock, 
Polute and strangle her unsullied fame. 
Until her piteous clamors reach the ear 
Of great Ulysses. Woe upon you then I 
For justice and revenge shall breed a storm 
Whose rumbling clouds will wrap the affrighted earth 



TeJemachus. \o^ 

Witli huge eclipse. In .seinblancc like a j^od, 

Laertes' son .shall light \\\m>\\ his kingdom, 

And with an eye, twice racked, with tears and fire, 

Behold his mangled hoTiH'. No i)rayers shall move him, 

For in the Hash of his uplifted sword 

Lives less remorse than in the forked light 

That struck the Titans from the dizzy top 

< )f famed Olympus. \_Exit. 



ACT II. 



SCENE \. — TnK Coast oi Itha< a. 

U LYSS KS — A \\ A K I N ( ; . 

Ubj^. Asleep, -hut where? \\'hat country may 
this he. 
And what shoiih.l I do here? Now, let me see — 
How came I hither? — I am growing old, 
And my poor memory like a jaded horse 
Hegins to halt, liut, stay: now, as I live, 
This should be Ithaca. — 'Twas yesti^r night 
When at Phaeacia in a nimble galley 
We hoisted sail, ;ind plashed the furrowed sea. 
That with the break of day I might behold 



io6 Telemachus. 

My native land again. If it were true, 
Methinks, the monarch of his soil would feel 
Some touch of recognition when he walks 
Where he is master. Pirates! — No, not so. 
Had I been set upon an alien coast 
For sake of plunder, these unvalued gifts, 
Rare tokens of esteem from worthy men, 
Had been the germ of knavery, and escaped 
With those they did provoke. But there's not one 
But has been ranged with more than common care 
About my side. There is no room for doubt: 
This is the country where my fathers lived, 
This is the land of great Arcecius' stock, 
This is Ulysses' realm. I stand and look 
Upon the mountains of my long lost home, 
And ere the virgin shepherdess of night 
Steps on her boundless pasture, I will enter 
The chambers of my palace, and will hold 
My wife, Penelope, and my dear son 
Within these empty arms. Ho, not so fast ; 
Soft, soft ; or else this passion jumps my wit 
And gallops to perdition, — breaks his neck: — 
I have been absent almost twenty years ; 
And twenty years with four times twenty seasons, 
And twelve times twenty everchanging moons 
May wear so wide a breach 'tween man and wife, 
That constant faith environed with temptation 
Can build no bridge across. Pallas Athene, 
Let me be wary, let me be advised : 
Atrides Agamemnon came to grief 



Teleniach us. 107 

When in his joy he was by craft forsaken ; 
Ulysses shall not be surprised nor taken. 

Enter Daphne. 

Whom have we here? God bless you, pretty maid. 

Nay, staj^ awhile ; there is no cause for fear 

I can assure you. Being new arrived. 

And stranger here, I'd thank you very much 

To have some question with you. Come, you'll find 

That all my rudeness is my iron coat. 

And I a very meek and gentle man. 

Daphne. Well, sir ; what is't? lam no coward, 
sir ; 
But I confess your sudden visitation, 
Together with the bright habiliments 
That prove a prince or monarch, tie ray tongue. 
And even now I stand twixt here and hence : 
Your harsh accoutrements bid me to fly, 
Your gentle havior bids me to remain. 
To take a heart and be so bold to ask 
Who may you be ? 

Ulys. True, very true : 

I had forgot. You should; indeed, know that. — 
But tell me, fair one, is Penelope 
A widow yet? and young Telemachus, 
IIow goes't with him? 

Daiiline. Penelope, good sir. 

Is yet a widow, but will soon be wed. 
Telemachus is well for all — 



io8 Telemackus. 

Ulys. Yes, yes : 

Whom do 3'ou think she'll wed? 

Dcq^hne, None knows but she : 

For one in hundred is too hard to guess. 

Ulys. She contemplates them kindly, does she not? 

Daphyie. No sir ; but they insist upon their suit. 

Ulys. Indeed : well, that is rude. 

Daphne, I think so, too. 

Ulys. These hundred suitors ; are they merry fel- 
lows, 
Or glum philosophers ? 

Daphne. Eat, drink and sleep. 

Is their philosophy. 

Ulys. A hundred men. 

Great Jupiter, what would Ulysses say ! 
Well, well ; now I did come in happy time. 
Since when is this? 

Daphne. About three years or four. 

Ulys. I wish I had been here. — A hundred men. 

Daphne. I'll show you to the palace if you wish. 

Ulys. Thanks, I can wait. You see, these trifles 
move me, 
Because I also travelled many miles 
To claim Penelope. But hundred rivals, 
For one so ill prepared to cope with them. 
Might well perplex a man. Are they much followed? 

Daphne. Some more, some less ; but many Ithacans 
Whose principle is born of policy 
Contrive in their behalf. 



Telcfnachus, 109 

Ulys. {Aside.) Down, furies, down: 

I must not yet release your horrid shapes ; 
There's time for that hereafter. Now for means 
To cover what I am, and then proceed 
To ferret out the germ of this revolt ; 
How, where, and what degree of punishment 
Each stands deserved in. Zounds ! 'twill be a course 
That hath some relish in't. 

Daphne. (Aside.) He seems to falter; 

But will a man like he confess defeat 
Without an effort? I will speak to him, 
Because Penelope will hardly find 
A properer man. I wonder who he is. 
The very tip and crown of majesty 
Would rest familiar on his regal frame ; 
And I am sure Penelope might find 
Some reparation for Ulysses here. 
If she were Daphne now, and Daphne, queen, 
I know what I would tell him. — Pardon, sir: 
But shall we to the court? 

Ubjs. No, no ; not so. 

I will explain : You see, my little friend, 
I am a prince of Crete. 

Daphne. I knew you were. 

Ulys. What do you know ? 

Daphne, You are a prince. 

UiyS' Of Crete? 

Daphne. You said, of Crete. 

^^yS' Yes ; I believe I did. 

15 ut hark you now. 



no Telemachtis. 

Daphhe. I will. 

Ulys. My native land 

Is well beloved of Pallas ; and her chiefs. 
Among whom I profess no menial rank, 
Have, by the favors of the blue-eyed queen. 
Excelled the sons of man}" a warlike isle 
That flecks the Aegean sea. Men covet fame, 
And envy sprouts wherever greatness grows. 
These suitors — more than hundred did 3'ou saj'? 

Daphne. A3'e, many more. 

JJlils. Well, hundred is enough 

To let me know among them I would tind 
At least a score who'd rather break my head 
Than hold m^'hand. 

Daphne. Are men so cruel, sir? 

Ulyii. Not all, but most of them. Hence I propose 
To doff these trappings for a beggar's garb. 
That without fear of malice or prevention 
I ma}^ proceed to mingle with the guests. 
Observe whatever strikes me worth the while. 
And find occasion to submit my suit 
To queen Penelope. 

Daphne. You'll rue it, sir: 

For at the table of these festive lords 
A poor man's portion is contumely. 
I've seen it, sir ; I know whereof I speak. 

Ulys. {Aside.) Has all our one-time justice 
shrunk to this, 
That there is nothing left twixt misery 
And wild extravagance. — Leave that to me; 



Telemachiis . 1 1 1 

I Mill on terms with luirdsliip many years. 
Do you but help me to a tattered robe, 
A beggar's seri[), and vvhatso else may serve 
The manner of my seeming. — Hereabouts, 
Aye, tliere it is. Hard by yon olive tree 
There is a cave where Naiads used to dwell, 
And there may I assume my new disguise. 
If you will bring as man}'- squalid rags 
As will transform me to a shabby knave, 
Your bounty shall exceed the richest dower 
That ever princess owned. 

Daphne. Without delay ; 

For I am proud to have the means to help you. 

Ulyf<. No word of what I am to anyone. 

Daphne. I know of nothing. 

JJly-'i. Then away at once, 

Yov I would have you hence and here again. 

Daphne. It shall be done. Zeus and his Mercury. 

Uhjs. 'Twere l)etter far it had been done already; 
For will do and have done, like nighl and <lay, 
Step one on the other's heel; but hell and heaven 
Show more similitude, are closer kin. 

[^Carries out his goods. 

Daphne. (Aside.) Here is a num strange and fa- 
miliar, too : 
We never met, still I have seen him often; 
We never spoke, and yet I know that voice 
For many a day in the year. He'll woo the (piei-n, 
And I must be assistant to his suit. 
Well, I will do't. If he had but a son, 



112 Tele much us . 

Thou Daphno's love would ho or lost or won. \_E.rit. 

UUjs. To livo a bo^gar, or (<) dio a kino-. — 
1 havo known nion to smile in the face of death 
For justice' sake ; yet 'tis a nol)lor strain 
To live for one's conviction tlian to die for't. 
Clear- featured honesty, 1 love thee well, 
But knavery best is batlled with his like. 
There is no armor forged in Vulcan's fire 
So proof as llimsy rags. Those evil men 
Will strike a beggar, and the hurt is small ; 
But when a blow falls on a monarch's head, 
His life is aimed at. I'll avoid the sting, 
And play the beggar, l)ut to l)o a king. [Exit, 

SCENE 11.—^ Hall in. Ulysses' Palace. 

Enter Antinous arid Peisander. 

/*eAs. The boy grows desperate. 

Ant. There is more in him 

Than shows at the surface. Wonder whore ho wont? 

Peis. None seem to know. 1 have been ui> an 
hour 
To question those that are most like to know : 
Hut neither threat nor promise did avail 
To make discovery : still, 1 have a mind 
Which tells me that he wont to Nestor first, 
In sandy Pylos ; being cognizant 
How in the wars old Nestor and his father 
Were close comi)anions. 



Tclcmachiis, 113 

Ant. Wi' must take to soa 

And cut liiin oil": I <l(» not fear llic hoy; 
IJiit, as Ulysses' son, lie'll gain admittance 
To all the great ones that came back from Troy. 

Peis. Tills troubles me. 

Ant, We'll after him to-night: 

If fortune smiles, we'll fecMJ hin> to the lish, 
Before the next Jiew moon. Tiie boy being de:i<l, 
Then iiai)ly he who wins lVneloi)e, 
Wins Ithaea besides. At all events, 
There can be nothing lost by't ; for his deatii, 
Being young and inexi)erienced on the seas, 
Will come three parts exi)ected : Jione will dream 
We h:id a hand iii't. 

/'e/.s. What a towering rage 

Possessecl the hul when lie berated yon. 

Aid. Did'st mark iiim well? I saw the very light- 
niug 
Which 1 beheld these twenty years ago 
Flash from Ulysses' eye ; and since I know 
'IMiat every frog was once a polliwig, 

I know this polliwig mny be a I'rog. 
Now. lor j)re\('nt ion. 

/^e/.s'. Stay, here comes the (pieen. 

Enter 1*knkl<m'1!:. 

Pen. (iood moi'i'ow. gent lemen. Where is mv son ? 

Peis. Tli;il we would le:iiri of you. 

Pen . Alas, good sirs, 

II \()U bear ;in\' iiiiii'-e towards iii\ child. 



114 Tclc))iac)i lis . 

You ln'MT i( hotli mijiistly mihI iiuwisi': 

If tliMl voiii- suit he lioiu'st, lie will lie 

No Itlofk lo voiir (K'sircs, hiil will prove 

A sl('|> (o COMIC l»v't : I'or I Miii resolved 

To hold liils kingdom's rnli' a sacred trust, 

VVliicli inv Ulysses yave into uiy charge 

When he set out for Ti-oy. Nor willl<|uit 

INIy husltaud's realm to be the wedded Avife 

Of e'eu till' most deserving of you all — 

The proudest prince o' (he earth would plead in vain, — 

Until my husband's heir and proper son 

Is here installed as king. 

/V/.s. So let it be. 

(iood madam, you do much misjudge our minds. 
Do not, I |)ray, think us such stupid fellows, 
So unacipiainted with the way o' the world. 
That we propose to win a mother's favor 
By plotting mischief 'gainst her son. 

Ani. Indeed, 

As you approached, Peisander and myself 
Considered how 'twere easiest to divert 
Impending danger. He is even now 
Exposed to all the hazards of the sea, 
And if by any means we could discover 
I lis journey's end, we'd mount our swiftest vessel. 
And so provide for all contingency. 
Our enterprise would i)rosper. — If by chance 
You do remember any circumstance 
That points in one direction or the other, 
J^et us be one in't. Anv little trick 



Tclcmach us. 115 

]M:iy be lo us llic \<v\ lo his iiitcnlioii ; 
And (his mihoilcd, ii()lhiii<j,' more rciiiMiiis 
To foil our imrposcs. 

Pen. I know oT nolhin<i,', 

Stivi' 1 woiihl \\ii\v iiini iiuicklv buck a<2,'ain. 

Aiit. Then grant 3'our leave, Peisander and myself, 
With such addition as may serve our cause, 
Employ all best eudeavors to relieve 
Your i^race Irom this suspense. 

P('n. Good geuth'inen, 

I have Jio ground to doubt ^our purposes; 
And yet, 1 know not why, but something tells me 
You do not wisii him well. 

Peis. 1 do not see 

That his misfortune could advantage us. 

l*cii. Then get you gone and bring me liack my son. 

Ant. For this permission, thanks. 

Peis. We take our leave. 

[Exeunt. 

Pen. There's not a dame in Greece but looks on nic 
With envious eye ; whereas the least of them 
Js rich compared with me. Ah, my poor l)oy ; 
'J'hou, too, wert born beneath the luckless star 
Of thy great father, and your danger now 
O'erwoes his absence. 'Tis a way we have: 
With passing years we ever learn to bear 
Our .iiicicnt wounds with an accpiired jiatience; 
While lesser ills, be they of recent date, 
J*urge old aflliction with a deeper pain. 
J fear the welfare of my husband much, 



1 1 6 Telemach us . 

V>\\t fear my sons condition even more; 

Ulysses bears a mind as swift as light 

To i)enetrate the evil men woidd do, 

And never fails by dint of shrewd invention 

To foil his enemies. Our wayward son 

Is green in danger ; therefore, gentle gods, 

Do not forsake mj^ bo}^, Telemachus. \^xU, 

SCP:NE III.— a i>akt of the Island. 

Enter \]LYi<f<¥.^, disguised as a^beggar, and Daphne. 

Ulys. How say 3'ou, is it well done? 

Daphne. Passing well : 

The rudest churl will find himself enforced 
'\\) grant your question. 

Ulys. Ah, my little friend, 

I fear, I shall o'erstep a beggar's boundary, 
And ask for more than any choose to give. — 
Now, tell me, who are 3'ou ; that I may know 
To whom I am beholden for this finery? 

Daphne. Pray, do not mock me ; you did not ask 
no more. 

Ulys. Why, I speak truly; sooth, I would not sell 
This cloak for all the gold we found in Troy. 
There is more merit in this frail surrounding 
Tlian in Ulysses' crown. Now, who are you? 

Daphne. My name is Daphne, old Eumaeus* 
daughter. 

Ulys. Eumaeus, I have heard that name before. 
AVell, Daphne, when you meet your true Apollo, 



Telemachus . jjh 

J'll tiikc occnsioii to r('(|iiil(. y,,m- ojji 
JU'VoikI ('X|)('ct;in('\ . 

Daphne. i tHank .v(mi, sir. 

Uly^^ HmI I,.-,v(. , c.Mv, ll.al v(Mir .m.IuhmIv tongue 
JJotruv not wlio I miii. 

Daphne. Hdicvc nu'tnic. 

1 could do iiiiK'li — 

iMi'lhink-s, (Ih> fatlKMofucl.ild like his 
Will ii(.( refuse uic .sli('l((«r. 

^^'^^''^^- Truly, uo. 

l^nt all llu. suitors hold hiui iu coutein|)t. 
Because he still persists to serve uoue else 
Than his lost master. Many impious wrono-s 
He therefore suffered, aud has now on.wn old 
Jk'fore his years. 

^^•'/•'*- B»'l lie will he rewarded 

As sure iis Jove claps thunder in the ch.uds. 
Lies here the way? 

Daphne. Lo„k you, how dark it on>svs. 

^N e'll have a storm anon. 

^^y- 'Tis ver^■ like. 

Daphne. Think you Jhere isnu.ehdanoerin a storm ^ 
Ulys. Oh, yes. 

Daphne. And men are often drowned at sea? 

Ulys. (^uite freciuently. 

Dar)hne. '\\a\ ,,,,. ^,.... , . 

^ icii me, saw you a shij) 

As you apj)roaehed? 

^y^' None in particular: whv? 



1 1 8 Telein a ch us . 

Daphne. Because, this very day, Teleinachus 
Went forth to seek liis fatlier, and the queen 
Will he uneasy tor her son's escai)e. 
Oh, he is now at sea and will be lost! 

UhjH. Indeed! well, well, 'tis very kind of you 
To take such interest in a mother's sorrow. — 
{Aside.) If love and reason were no paradox, 
And sudden lightning- constant as the sun, 
These ])right, impulsive creatures were to man 
Perpetual re-creation. If I thrive, 
As I do think I shall, we'll weave this (lower 
Into the garland of our Uingly house. 
Her looks speak legion, yet I'll stake my crown. 
She'll \\o\ confess one word. — My little friend. 
Your fear is rather lor his mother's son. 
Than for his mother-^but no matter for't. 
Telemachus must well-nigh be a man. 
And as Ulysses' heir doth ever walk 
With Pallas' spear and great Olympus' shield. 
He will return again ; and if you love him, 
I'll give him my consent to marry you. 

Dajyhne. Vou give in jest, and so in jest 1 thank 
you ; 
But, sir, I do not wish to marry him. 

Ulys. Oh, is it so. Then let us to your father. 
And speak no more of him who seems to be 
Indifferent matter both to you and nu'. 

Daphne. You do not like him then? 

Ulys. As much as you. 



Telcnmchiis. 119 

Daphne. Soo. how tlu' Uroakcrsdasli 011 yoiKU'iclilf. 
He must not [)erisli ! 

Ulys. Lcl IIS pray for liiiii. [Ej'P:u,nt. 

SCENE IV.— El MAixs' Hit. 

Enter Eimaki s. 

Earn. .My droves arc slu'lti'rcMl. W'liat a coil is 
Ikmt! 
I'll not Ix'licvc thai cloiid-t'oniiK'Hino; Jove 
Would ill his wrath take many ij;ood ineirs lives. 
And let these overweeninii" suitors here 
Revel regardless of his mighty anger. 
But that he hath resolved to cut theni off 
With keener instrument. \\'lio knocks? Come in! 

Enter lihYssKs. 

UUffi. A i)oor old man. bereft of food and shelter, 
Makes ai)i)lication here. 

Earn. Von are riiiht welcome. 

My lot is little, yet the meanest having 
Will hear division, he it e'er so small. 
Old man. whence came you? Take this cuj) of wine; 
Nor shall you want for food. Daphne, I say! 

Ulyn. My heo-gar thanks could not he ox'erplussed 
Were I a kino-. 

Earn. riysses is my master. 

And wIk'ii these tweiit\' vears he sailetl for 'l'r(>v. 



120 Telouachus, 

He took iiu' by the hand and partinu- said: 
Eumaeus, be a father to the poor. 
They are the special chiklren of the o()ds ; 
In proof whereof the deities themselves 
From time to time assume a beg-g-ar's <iarb, 
And walk 'niong men in quest of charity. 

TJlys, I saw your master. 

Enm. When? 

Ulys. Far. far from liere. 

'Twas shortly after Noman did put out 
The monstrous eye of uncouth Holyplieme. 

Eum. How long is that? 

t%,s. About eight years or nine. 

Bum. The last we hear was that he safely passed 
Twixt Scylla and Charybdis. 

Ulys. That came later. 

Eiim. Old man. do not attempt to win our favor 
With tales of own inventi(m. IVIany l)eggars 
Come to this isle, and feed our luingry ears 
With specious lies, considering these the coin 
To buy the bounty of Ulysses' friends. 
And liis most noble (pieen. We i)unish all 
Whom we discover in't. 

Ubifi. I am noni' sucli. 

Ulysses was my friend, and in the wars 
That cruml)led Priam's city, have 1 oft 
Served as his charioteer. , 'Twill not be long 
Before you'll see I ivuow Ulysses well ; 
For in the days that Mars was out of humor 
He used to tell me of his wife and bow 



Tclcmachtis. 121 

And oilier dcMi' oin-s lie li.'id Icl't hcliiiid. 
I It'll voii. lie w.'is lo.'illi to l('M\(' his lioinc. 
And lor m lesser slnke IIimii Helen wuH, 
Had never joined willi Aiinnieninon's host. 

Kiim. Trne. wvy 1 riie. 

(Jljlf^. How I'm res ills eoiinlry since? 

I love this ni:m so (mhimI with niysell', 
TIimI Miiy eirennisl;inee of him or his 
Conies close to me. 

Kum. Nay. yon shrill rntlier speak 

<)!' oiii' lost monarch, and to-morrow iiioimi 
Without delay cra\(' access to the (|neen : 
For every tidini!; of her ill-starred kinij;, 
Comes like a holiday within her dole 
Of twenty weepinii- yeai's. 

67//.S. I piithee, swineher<l. 

Let me defer. \\ Ci'e I now to hei^in 
A true rehearsal of what I do know 
< )f him we s|)eak of. all the lixc-lono' ni<ilit. 
Albeit it did extend from moon to moon. 
W'onld not snlllce for- me to tell it in. 
The shorter tale siionhl still precede the longer : 
And. therefore, yon shall first relate to me 
All the occnrrences, hoth ;Li<)od and evil. 
That here befell since twenty yeais a<i,<) 
Ulysses left his home. 

Kum. To say it brielly. 

There were none aood : lor as onr monarch's <>Iory 
Ascended to the zenith in the east. 
K'en so it fell and fadecl in the west. 



122 Tclcni a ch us . 

IIo WMS M iDMii <»r siicli consiiiiiiiKilc' skill 

Jn ways of ^■ovcrmiu'iil, IIimI :iII liis jx'oplc 

Were well ('(Hilciil (o Icm\'c ;ilT;iirs of slnlc 

Alone lo his discrclioii. So il cMiiu', 

'riuil NvluMi \\v went, our Ixxh' jtoiilic 

Sci'iiK'd lo liMVc lost its iu'iul. l!l_vsses' wcmIiIi. 

Our iini)oliMil coiKJilioii, mid tlio faino 

(){' his most hcMutiful and noble (inecn. 

Drew ship on ship (»!' hold :id\('nl nrei's 

From every eoiner oC the popnions e:iilh. 

t////.s. \\\\\ was Ihere not an .'inn in Ithaca 
Could wield Ulysses' sword? 

Enm.. 1 lis ablest friends 

Wonld not I'eniain behind when he set onl 
'I'o eope with lleetoi": e\('r\ Ithaean 
That- had the strength to bnekle armor on. 
Ivanii'ed with I'lysses on the plains of 'Proy. 

rVy/.s. Aye, so they did. He took them, e\tM"y one; 
And mII his greatness was too weak a powci' 
To bi'inji,' ;i sini^le soldier back aii,ain. 

Knw.. Thinii,s <j,rew IVom bad to woi'se : there's 
not :i law 
I'i'eseribed by him who rules the universe. 
Hut hath l)een here offended; e\(Mi here, 
'I'he very spot which once the ci\il world 
Considered its example. 

LHys. S|»eak no more : 

I can not listen to your piteous story 
W ith barren eye, (Jood niiiht, i^ood niiihl, \\\\ friend. 
\N here sliall I la\ me down? 



Tclemach us. 12 3 

Knm. 'I'licrf's room witliiii. — 

To-day I lirar il noised nhoiil llu' (own, 
Aiitinoiis, more Minhitioiis IIkiii tlic rest, 
Seeks to nsnri) the lliroiie of Illinca 
And wear lHysKes' erown. 

UJ}IS. No, fellow, no! 

He can not <lo't and live a siniile day. 
Ill' nia\ as well storm \\\\ the hill of heaven. 
And phiek the ^olden circle from the hi'ow 
( )f thnnderiiiii" .Io\ c I 

Ktiiii. rivsses! 



ACT III. 



% 

SCENK I.~A II M.I. IN I'lvssks' 1V\i.\< k. 

.Enter Ti:livMA< III s nud Kimaki s. 

Tel. Kninaeus, it has heen onr common I'anit 
T(j hold these wandering' tell-tales to our ears. 
Idealise they fondle h()|)e ; our- eyes we close 
For fear theii- Iraiids are all too i)al|)al)le. 
How many times have wo not raise<l a cnp 
( >I iid'ormation to onr thirsty lips 
That hehl a draught well pleasinj^- to the taste, 
l»nt poison to onr inwards. I<'rom this on. 



124 Telcniach us . 

My Htoinacli, not my i):ihit(% shall incsciiln' 
Tlic stulT 1 Iced oil. 

Eum. (»()()(1 'ri'k'iiiacliiis. 

'Iliis iiuni si'ciiis so rcMiiovcd I'roiii his vocation. 
'I'lial I Ix'sccch yon lislcn to his slory 
Ere yon j)rononn(*i' i( I'alsc. 

Tel. Well, send liini iiilher. 

I'll speak to iiini, and with a score of (jncstions 
I'ei'snade his ton<2,ne to turn npoii hiniscll. -- 
No lather evei- had a fonder son 
Than 1 am to I'lysses; Imt, nietiiinks, 
I owe him hetter dnty tii:in to stare 
W itii liapiiiij,' mouth at cNcry i^ossip's tale. 

Eum. W'iU't see him now? 
Tel . See whom ? 

Eii)n. This heii'^arman. 

7V/. 1 care not when; or now or any time. 

[ li.n't Im AiAKi's. 
Nine days will o|»e tlie eyt's of any cnr. 
\\'hih» boastfnl man i^ropes blinder than a mole 
\\ itii twice so many years. 1 lied Ihese halls 
Because 1 fancied all the world bound up 
In dread conspir;icy aiiainst myself; 
Hut now I see my mightiest enemy 
1 )wells here wit liin. — 

When Aj^amemiioirs son became of aii'c, 
lie slew the villain that did kill his father, 
Whili' 1. who lia\'e more cause to stiike than \\v. 
Can waii' no other wi>apo!i but my loiiti,iic 
Ai>ainst my malefactors. lleiH' 1 si rut 



Tclcmach us. 125 

l?«'iu'M(li I he purple luiiidicralt of IIolcii, 

( )1 Helen. I'orciiiost womnii oT the world. 

Who wound lliis pnrjdc mantle on my shoulder. 

lint ne\('r knew how hase deoeiicriitc 

I'lysscK' stock had orown : for Helen's garment 

Was nev('r woven for a coward's hack. — 

In my yonno- days 1 i)rayed to Jnjjiter 

Above all else to i^ive nic hack my father, 

Yet now 1 dread his coming- more than death. 

Enter Ulyssks. 

Sn[)pose he entered his dominion now, 

Things standing- as they do, what would he say 

'i\) his delincpient son ? 

^'^///•s". Your pardon, sir : 

I interiiipt because I wouhl not be 
Unwelcome listener to your me<litation. 

Tel. What man art thou? 

^%.s. I have a mind to tell ; 

Hut you will not give credence to my word. 

Tel. That's very like ; I've met your kind before. 

(Uys. Are you Telemachus? 

Tel. That is my name. 

\N ilhdraw awhile; here comes the (pieen, my mother. 
I'll speak to thee anon. [^Exit Ulysses. 

Wliat follows now. 
It will indeed go hard, but go it must, — 
There's no alternat i\e. 



126 Telemachus, 

Mnter Pknelope. 

Pen. Telemachus ! 

Td. Forgiveness, mother: I am much to blame 
For my unceremonious going hence ; 
But, my good mother, I was so beset 
I had no choice but go ; and this much granted, 
I knew 'twere ten times harder to obtain 
Your leave o:; go, than pardon having gone. 

Pen. I have you now : what further recompense 
Could I desire. Let this present joy 
Illume our hearts, for seldom comes the day 
That Phoebus' golden arrows pierce the clouds. 
Whose weeping shadows hang above our house. 

Tel. O mother, there is something more in life 
Than tears and sorrow ; but our eyes are dim, 
And hence we cannot look beyond the griefs 
That rise al)out us. Since I saw you here 
My days have doubled, and my twenty years. 
Consumed in crawling round about this isle. 
Are poor compared with any single day, 
I lived in foreign lands. Beyond the sea 
There Hes a world of fame : illustrious men 
Direct the government of vast dominions. 
So large that you might set all Ithaca 
Upon one held of grain. I saw a king 
Deliberating on the people's weal, 
In council with the great ones of his realm ; 
Wise men, in silvery hair, that had achieved 
Such close communion with the blessed gods. 
That every word they speak hangs like a jewel 



Tclcniachus. 127 

rpoii the listeners ear. Tlie marcli of time 
Develops miracles of art aiul coinnierce 
In yonder world, while here in Ithaca 
The idle sand is clogged in Kronos' glass, 
I })hish to say so, yet I too have seen 
Young men, no more completed than myself. 
Whose deeds the tongue of immortality 
Will praise unto the children of the earth. 
When they are dead and buried. And for me, 
I stand for less than nothing. Pardon, mother : 
But I as leave had not V)een born at all, 
Than live to suffer such humilitv. 

Pen. AVhere is 3'our father? 

Tel. Heaven knows, not I. 

Pen. Where have you been? 

Tel. Most truly will I state 

Mv journey's incidents from first to last ; 
But I shall find no words to let you know 
How vile a thing your miserable son 
AV'axed in his own opinion. 

Pen. Ah, ni}^ son, 

The flash and circumstance of majesty 
Have struck your envy ; be you comforted, 
Promotion is an honor oft achieved 
By tricks of little merit. 

Tel. Thus it was:— 

Our ship set out with zephyr in her wing. 
And in the morning of the second day 
We i)ulled our bottoms on the sandy beach 
<^f Pylos, where Gerenenian Nestor rules. 



128 Telemach us . 

An ancient warrior, under whose command 
Three generations of his warhl^e people 
Were crowned with victory. He bade me welcome ; 
And though a stranger, he befriended me 
With that benign assurance Avhich proceeds 
From large-souled men. I told him who I was. 
And then he drew me to his manly ,breast, 
And gazed upon ni}^ face until he saw 
Convincement of my words. His valiant sons 
And all the eager multitude advanced 
To catch a glimpse of him, whom Nestor there 
Declared to be the son of that one man 
Than whom there was none greater. When I saw 
That Pylos' people and their glorious king- 
Heaped all the honors on Ulysses' son, 
And not a jot for poor Telemachus, 
It almost broke my heart ; and I implored 
Grim Atropos to cut ni}^ thread of life. 

Pen. Are these the thanks you owe to Jupiter 
For such a father? 

Tel. Do not chide me, mother : 

I need no other tutor than myself 
To show my imperfections. Let me speak : 
When thirst and hunger had been satisfied, 
The ancient monarch pulled me by the cloak, 
And arm in arm we left the banquet-hall, 
That in seclusion he might speak to me 
Intently of ni}^ father. Half the night 
The eloquent narrator held my breath 
With curious incidents that had befallen ; 



Telemachus, 129 

How ill the war iiu' father and himself 
Had been as 'twere the brain of the enterprise, 
While Ajax and Achilles were the arm 
To carry ont their ends. His greatest boast, 
Which ever formed the burden of his song, 
Was to have been Ul3'sses' nearest friend ; 
And how in ten long j^ears of disappointment. 
Brought on by jealousies among the great, 
Who each a king, refused to recognize 
The law of discipline, — their tw^o opinions 
Did never clash, but like co-mingling w^aters 
Augmented one the other. 

Pen. But, m}' son. 

What recent information could you win 
From ancient Nestor : he was first of all 
To hurry home ; and now must w^ell-nigh be 
These nine years re-established in his realm. 

Tel. That's very true, and therefore he commended 

I visit Menelaiis, whose return 

Was of but recent date. It was my wish 

To hold more converse with this sage old man ; 

For though his news was staled with many years, 

There is much learning more than nine years old 

r stand in need of. Nestor's valiant son 

Proposed to go along ; and having bound 

His' fiery horses to an oaken car. 

We galloped through the echoing portico. 

And, driving hard, upon the second day 

Encountered Sparta's realm, whose western boundary 

Joins Pylos on the east. Without delay 
9— 



130 Telemachiis. 

We walked into the royal palace-hall 

Of Lacedaemon, where the fair-haired spouse 

Of Helen holds his sway. 

Pen. And saw you Helen? 

Tel. 1 can not speak of her ; hut 'tis no wonder 
That where she went, all ( Jrecce was bound to go ; 
That hundred thousand men gave up their lives 
For Helen's ransom. Had I been of age, 
When "on to Ilium" rang a nations voice, 
I might have perished on a Trojan lance, 
But had been happier dead than living now. — 
This glorious daughter of all-seeing Jove, 
Whose beauty bears the i)alm from Cupid's mother, 
Siretehed forth her hands, and ere my stricken tongue 
Could tell my country or my parentage, 
She said, "Telemachus, most welcome here. 
Be not amazed, for in your countenance 
I trace familiar lines: yow. are, indeed, 
A youthful copy of an ancient friend, 
Of my Ulysses, whose enduring heart. 
Replanted me in Greece from Barbary." — 
The Spartans worship their immortal queen, 
And led by her example, cheered aloud. 
There was no end of welcome : day on day 
Saw Lacedaemon in her best attire, 
To honor him, whose father's deep invention 
Made up the boon of the world But let that rest ; 
I'll speak of it hereafter. Tell me now — 

Pen. Knows Menelaiis of your father aught? 

Tel. The monarch said, Ulysses will return. 



Tclanachus. 131 

Pen. And so he will. If Meiielaiis' reason 
Applauds the strain of my divining soul. 
I need not falter. He will surely come. 

Td. But, mother, when? 

Pen. The gods have set the day. 

Tel. L'erhaps they have. — I am right well aware 
JVIy father was a most unusual jnan, 
And it were folly to suppose his person 
Unguarded 'gainst all trivial circumstances, 
That fret the aims of ordinary men. 
But, mother, let us ever bear in mind 
That death is life's condition: we are born 
To live and die ; and oft the best of us 
Are summoned to the shades of Pluto's realm 
When least expected, and when least deserved. 
My father may return, I grant you that ; 
But since it stands not in the pale of reason, 
Let us accept what seems more probable. 
That is the opposite. I speak not now 
Alone from my opinion ; these are words 
That sound the echo of my journey's counsel ; 
For I have learned the wind will never blow 
From here or there, because we wish it so. 
And, therefore, mother, let us now regard 
His coming as an unexpected joy, 
His absence, as a known calamity' 
That justly claims attention. 

Pen. What's to do? 



132 Telemachus, 

Tel. Before all else, deliver Ithaca 
From every rank and festering parasite 
That battens on her blood. 

Pen. What can we do? 

Did not I put them off from year to year 
With old Laertes' shroud ? 

Tel. The worse for us. 

In all this time their number did augment, 
And we advantaged nothing ; so that now, 
This alien serpent rears his venom head 
Above our house, while, like a stricken doe, 
Our kingdom chokes within his closing coils. — 
Procrastination cures a trivial scratch, 
(ireat wounds increase with age. — Still, there is hope; 
For where there is no hope, there is no life. 
Our cause is set upon a desperate throw. 
But you possess the skill to cast a die 
That signifies salvation. 

Pen. You affright me : 

For if your plan proposed a sacrifice 
Less grim than death, you would unfold it to me 
Without a preface. Do not look upon me 
With woeful eye : men are not used to pity. 
And when they do, their object of compassion 
Is pitiful indeed. Ha, now I see! 
But no, I'll not believe, that my own child 
Would press his mother into shameful dust, 
That her dishonor, like a stepping-stone, 
P^xalt him to promotion. 

Tel. If I rise, 



Tele^nachus. 133 

While yoii, my mother, sink, it will result 

From circumstances greater than ourselves. 

There is no «>ive and take twixt good and evil ; 

'Tis ever good for good, or ill for ill : 

Aud those are wise who (luiekly can discern 

Twixt ofood and better. You have now the choice — 

Pen. 1 comprehend ; there needs no explanation. 
Your cold unlilial words are })roof enough, 
'J'hat you have fallen from me like the rest ; 
That henceforth you will shape j^our arguments 
With nicely balanced reasons. You have severed 
The tie of blood that binds a son and mother. 

Tel. Not so, dear mother: if you knew me well, 
Y'ou would not say so. For m}^ single self, 
^Most willing would I die to do you good : 
But there's the torture, I am damned to live, 
And lack the liberty most men possess. 
To die when so they please. The mighty gods 
Have strewn my path with many onerous duties ; 
And, by the aid of l^alhis, I will strive 
To live and li({uidate my fateful debt; 
Which thing to do, T would not hesitate 
To perish ten times o'er. I love my country- — 

Peyi. Or else you were a traitor. Every slave 
Yearns for his native soil, no villain hates it. 
But who permits a son to cast his mother 
Into the harsh and rude indifferent world? 

Tel. The kingdom's weal. 

PeUr There is no justice in't. 

Do you propose to loose the wedded bonds 



134 Telemachus. 

'J'liat join me to your father? Shall I jx'rjiire 
The sacred vow we pledged to one another. 
And which for twenty years I have defended 
Against temptation, threats and argument? 
Wy what authority do you promulgate 
Commands like this? There's not a man on earth 
Dare step between Ulysses and his wife. — 
Tell me, by what divine prerogative 
You bear the power to intlict upon me 
A stain that cracks my honor and my will? 
Who bids Peneloi)e renounce her husband? 

Td. The state. 

Pen. I know not what you mean by that. 

O, do not break my lieart, Telemachus : 
Forget not that you are my only child, 
My only friend in an unfriendly world. 
Our house was once replete with kin and kind. 
But my true faith, by these called obstinance. 
Made them deserters: one by one they parted, 
And whatsoever love 1 owed to them, 
I paid it thee. J was so sure of you, 
That had the Delphian oracle foretold 
What here transpires: that the very tongue 
I taught to si)eak would testify against me, 
Then I had slandered Thoebus with a lie. 

Td. No more, 1 i)ray ; or else my purpose 
crumbles. 
And resolution must again rebnild 
With anguish, tears, transgression and remorse. 



Telemach us. 135 

Pen. Shame, shame upon you! Were 1113'^ soul so 
black 
To yield in deference to your impious wish 
And marry one or the other of these suitors, 
How would Ulysses look upon his wife 
Lodged on the bosom of his enemy? 

Tel. With adoration. He would worship you. 
And his enduring heart would swell witli pride 
To know himself the husband of a woman 
Who bore a mind so great, that she unlaced 
The very pith and essence of her honor 
To save her country. Oh, it were a deed 
To raise Penelope among the gods ; 
To make her name a nation's household word, 
Which all mankind would cherish and revere, 
E'en like the men of Argos bend their knee 
To Iphigenia. \Exit Pkn elope. 

Allmighty goddess, 
Thou spirit-child of aegis-bearing Jove, 
I know 3^ou love me for my father's sake ; 
And therefore I conjure thee by his greatness. 
Let fall a beam of your intelligence 
T'illume my narrow vision, that it find 
Some gentler menus than my shortsignte'l brain 
Can now discover. Vet, I pray thee, too, 
If my dear mother be the unvalued sum 
Which fate demands to release Ithaca, 
Inspire me with the courage of your wisdom. 
That step by step unfaltering I proceed, 
Regardless of whatever sacrifice 



136 Tclcmachus. 

May be involved: lor swell an end as this 

Will jnstil'y the use of any mcaus, 

INo matter wliat they be. — I will not eensure 

This mother's reprobation of her son: 

She is my mother, still she is a woman ; 

And being sueh, the motion of her heart 

Directs her judgment. For n woman's iieart, 

Tluit emblem ol' devotion, loves to eling 

With tender passion to particular things. 

And recks not why the warring elements, 

Huge offspring of creation's intellect. 

Should rip her tendrils from the chosen oak. 

If it so please them. — There's the conjurer 

That starts our passion for these gentle creatures. 

Whose love alone doth teach men how to love. 

Whenever I'eason, like a tonid sun, 

Glares on the rainbow petals of this llower, 

The colors fade, the fragrance wafts away. 

The blossom wilts, the woman is no woman. 

Eyiter Cvnk^vl. 

C////. 1 am right glad to see your highness back. 

Tel. No, not a whit; but you are prone to lying. 
Why don't you speak your notions like a man. 
And tell me candidly that my return 
Jumps not with your desire? 

Cyn, By your leave. 

It were ])oor i)olicy for any servant 
To tell his master that. And for myself. 
Had 1 been hoiu'st, I had not been wise. 



Tel em a ch us. 137 

Tel. Nor ever will Ik\ wliijo your hrasli concoit 
IJreaks your astuteness down. 

Cf/n. I'll iiieiHl niy fault 

By seeming liunihle. 'IMi.-iiiks for <.(„„i julvice. 

Tal. No, ('ynicM-l, your lault li(!s souiewluit deeper. 
Vou are one of tlios(r elever fellows, who. on (inding 
themselves endowed with enoujrh shrewdiu'ss to biilllc 
the honest ar«:;ument ol' tlui sim|)le ones, do thereby 
lose all res|)cct for honesty, and so ovcrestimati^ their 
ability, that they have tMkcn ii|)on 1 hcnisclvcis to out- 
wit wisdom with sMtirc. Why. I met u m:in once who 
had abjured Iclliiiu the truth altogether ; and for no 
otiier reason, tiuui thnt he considered his superior in- 
tellect worthy of a more palatnbh; diet, th.-in the ever 
recurring monotony of truth. 

Cyn. Better a nimbh^ tongue than a slow wit. 

Tel. That depends on the wit. These (piibbhirs 
are sterile birds, ('ynleal: they lay nothing but empty 
sludls, juid would liMve us believe tlusm eggs. But 
their cackle avniis tlH'in nothing: the knowing house- 
wife will not Mccept their shallow |»rel,ens(;s. 

Cf/n. l*retenses! why, my lord, tin; world consists 
of appearances ; appearances are dciceptions, and de- 
citptions art! lies. Lies creat(; misc^ry, and in a nns- 
<'ral)Ie world the cynic is alone to be envied, for he is 
j)ro<jr Mgainst misfortune. 

Tel. Perhaps \h\ is. But to my mind, his armoi- 
is of the kind a beggar bears against the brigand : the 
poverty prevents the theft. Vou claim to be e\('mi)t 
from sorrow ; but where is yonr advantag(!, when 



138 Telemachtis. 

those that do not weep, do not laugh? — Above all, you 
must learn to respect humanity. You can not treat men 
like numbers : there is something more in man than 
you can buy or sell. You sneer at this, and why? 
Because your own nature is so incapable of an}^ noble 
sentiment, that you will concede none to others. 
And mark you what results : you misuse the weak^ 
and they avoid you ; you flatter the strong, and they 
tolerate you : the former speak ill of you, and the lat- 
ter hold you in contempt. In one word, j^our founda- 
tion is out of plumb ; and therefore your structure 
cannot endure. One lie will not lie straight on another ; 
you must still eke out the first with a second : and in 
this manner you will continue to the end. You talk 
much and say nothing, you work much and do noth- 
ing. Mend and be honest. 

Cyn. Your lordship thinks not well of Cynical. 

Td. I do not hate, but neither do I love you. 

Cyn. I never yet was loved by any man ; 
C4ood canse, methinks, why 1 should love myself. 

{Exit, 

Ent< r Peisander and Polybis. 

Pels. Why, here we are. Antinoiis' 
Ant. ( Withoxit. ) What' s the matter ? 

Pels. Call up our friends, be careful how you walk ; 
For here's a desperate fellow. 

Ayd. ( Witlwut. ) Who is he ! 

Peis. His royal highness, prince of Ithaca. 



Telemachiis. 139 

Pol. Where is my weapon? I'll defend myself. 
I prithee, lion, do not eat me first. 

Enter Antinous and other Suitors. 

Ant. Ah, you speak true. How fares our wan- 
dering youth? 

Tel. 1 thank you, well. 

Ant. What news? 

Tel. Oh, nothing much. 

Ant. We learn that ^^ou have been in sandy Pylos, 
And Sparta, too ; moreover, we are told. 
You there endeavored to persuade these kings 
To take up arms against us. Let me tell you, 
That henceforth we may understand each other. 
We'll not endure 3^our pranks. The queen, your 

mother, 
Gave us her promise, she must make it good. 
If you resist our firm and just demand, 
You'll pay the penalty. 

Tel. Antinous, 

You cannot fright me with your boastful tongue ; 
Nor you, nor you, nor any of your number. 
I have forgot to fear. 

Ant. Then have a care, 

Or we'll refresh your memory. 

Tel. Gentlemen, 

I do not wish to quarrel with you now : 
For being only one, and you so many, 
My sword could never prove liis argument. 



1 40 • Telemach us . 

Since last 1 saw you all, I have resolved 
A thing or two, and if you'll listen to me, 
Methinks, you'll quickly grant me your consent — 
Nay, more, your ai)prol)ation. This it is: 
M}^ father, sage Ulysses, now is dead. 

All. . Ulysses dead ! 

Tel. He is: and, being dead, 

There's not a man alive that dare dispute 
My claim to Ithaca ; and being mine, 
I owe it both to heaven and myself, 
To rule it as a king. But, stay awhile. 
I know right well whatever I attain 
Must be by your concession; for I see 
Among your host a hundred valiant men, 
Each one of whom were more than match for mo. 
But all of you are likewise in pursuit 
Of something that evades your eager hands 
From year to year. What further means you have, 
As yet unused, I do not claim to know : 
But judging by the past, it seems to me. 
That neither of us can attain his end. 
Without the other's help. Like tired men 
That jog along a steep and rugged path, 
W^e still have pushed and jolted one another ; 
But were't not easier if we joined our arms 
And marched together? Verily, to me 
It seems the wiser course — -what think you of it? 

Peis. Let's meet his offer with a show of welcome, 
My good Antinoiis, for I almost think 
He speaks from's heart. 



Telemachus, 141 

Ant. It likes me not, Peisander: 

If lie were any otlier than he is, 
We might suppose him honest and direct ; 
But since we never gave him cause for kindness, 
I fear his love more than his enmity. 

Pels. You overrate the boy. He can do nothing 
To work us mischief; while it stands to reason, 
He would do much to favor us withal, 
If by our favor he became a king. 
Ant. (Aside.) You touch me there. What care 
I for the queen ; 
Penelope did never move me much, 
And when I drew my sword in that direction, 
It struck beyond the woman to the crown. 

Pels. We cannot well decline this proffered friend- 
ship. — 
Telemachus, you have right nobly si)oken : 
These words had well become an older man. 
We will consider them. 

Tel. I pray you, do. 

A7it. You would be king? What service can you 
render 
For this distinction? 

Tel. Service did you say? 

Ant. Aye, that's the (question. 
^el. None, whatever, sir. 

I come not as a beggar to your door, 
I wish to buy and sell ; and here propose 
To use my best persuasion in your cause, 



1 42 Telemachus. 

If all of you agree to quit our island 
In ten days after (]ueen Penelope 
Is wed the wife of any suitor liere. 

All. That will we do. 

Tel. Then let nie have your liands. 

(Jood gentlemen, I loathe to lose my mother, 
But I am bound to ehoose between extremes. 
And being bound, I do it manfully. 
Do not consider me an ingrate child. 
For truly I am none. And, gentle sirs, 
I have already spoke in your behalf. 
Because 1 knew your wisdom would not fail 
To lind advantage in my proposition. 

Ant. Where is Penelope? 

Id. I pray you all, 

Let me alone with her a day or two, 
And then assail her with redoubled suit. 
Good friends, our joint ambition is at stake. 
We must not fail. Let fortune smile or frown : 
You'll have a (pieen, Telemachus, a crown. 



Telemachus . 



143 



ACT IV. 



SCENE I.— P:i MAEis' Hit. 
£'/i^er Tklkma< ms. . 

Td. Where can she be? No sailor ever searched 
The cloudy heaven for a twinkhng star 
With iveener eye, than 1 have searched the isle 
For gentle Daphne. Haply she abjures 
My company ; and liies froni where 1 go, 
Like Atalanta shunned the sight of men 
Before she met the shrewd Hippomedes. 
I'll not believe it till she tell me so ; 
And since I have a mind that follows after, 
I prithee, Argus, let me have your eyes, 
Your hundred eyes, that wheresoe'er she be 
I may not fail to find, but lind and see. {Exit. 

Enter Daphne. 

Daphne. Was ever pride so punished. Two long 
days 
Telemachus proceeds from house to house 
Extending thanks to every strangers welcome, 



144 Tele ma chiis. 

While I, who held his favor most of all, 

Have most escaped his memory. But, alas^ 

We never value anything we have, 

Until we have it not. Well, let it go: 

He is no more to me, than I, to him ; 

And my delight must be to bear in mind. 

That when this very man was sick with love, 

Both he and his possessions were a sum 

Too slight for my acceptance. I shall find 

Some comfort here, when once I teach my heart 

To feed the present only on the past, 

Without a grain of future. How is that? 

I undertake to do I know not what : 

Forswear all future, and subject myself 

To living death? That were a punishment 

Too great for my offense. My proper penance 

Must be to look on tall Telemachus, 

To gaze aloft, while his indifferent eye 

Falls unobserving on the shepherd girl, 

That might have been his queen. His queen? not so. 

To be a queen, a woman needs must be 

The consort of a king. I love him now 

For nothing that he was, but what he is. 

And am I much to blame ? Telemachus 

Whom once I knew, although a faithful lover, 

Was nothing more. Oh, what a different man 

Is this Telemachus, who hardly home. 

Hath won the good opinion of his friends 

And adversaries, too. 



Tclcmachtis. . 145 

Enter Telemachus. 

My love was born 
Twin sister to his courage : both began 
The very clay he braved the elements 
To find his father. He is now returned, 
And every honor laid upon his back, 
Adds fuel to my passion. 1 behold 
My foolish love instead of dwindling down, 
(Irow with his greatness. 

Tel. {Aside.) May the bounteous gods 

Sprinkle this passion with a fruitful rain. — 
Your love shall never soar be^^ond my bounty, 
For I will double all mj^ future honors 
By sharing them with you. I make thee promise. 
That my ambition shall not pause for breath. 
Until the arrows of my enterprise 
O'ershoot the moon. 

Daphne. Is this a dream or no? 

Tel. I care not. Daphne: for awake or 'sleep 
I have you now. If it be thus to dream, 
^l^Y Morpheus wind us in his drowsy arms, 
Changing our days to one perpetual night. 
Hush, not a word: I will not have you speak, 
Until I read the tenor of your tongue 
In these bright eyes. And to be doubly sure, 
I'll seal the gate, within whose tempting guard 
I have so often found an enemy. 

Daphne. You are too bold. 

Tel. That is a soldier's fault, 

—10 



146 Telanachus, 

Which, in the estimatic^n of your kind. 
Excels our greatest virtue. 

Dafpline. 'releinaclms, 

How could you leave nie so? 1 loved you ever ; 
But love is blind, and hence 1 knew it not. 

Tel. I'll not rei)ent my absence, gentle Daphne: 
For only by my absence am 1 here. 

Doplnie. Yon reason merrily ; but I have found 
Remorse and love a torture more severe 
Than an}^ liend that dwells in Tarturus. 
Bear patiently with me a little while, 
This joy comes all too sudden. 

Tel. ' My desire 

To win your heart so compassed my affection. 
That not the fairest princess I encountered, 
Moved more than friendshii). 

Daphne. I'll requite you for't. 

You shall have proof, that any princess' love 
Were poor compared with I)a[)hne's. 

Tel. Let us hence : 

I hear some footsteps coming. 

Daphne. 'Tis a friend. 

Tel. AVere he our father I'd avoid him now. 

Daphne. list! not a word. Step lightly: here's 
the way. 

E'ljfer Ulysses. 

Tel. Oh, let me gaze upon this wondrous night, 
Until the brighter wonder of your love 



Tclcmachus. 147 

Illumes my heart's horizon like the sim. 
Look, Daphne, look, for in a mortal's hfe. 
There never comes another like to this. 
There's not a constellation in the sky 
]5ut sings of love to-night. Far in the East 
Diana's lamp hangs from the dome of heaven, 
Silvering the couch where sombre Neptune sleeps, 
While all the world is hushed with harmony. 
But hark, I hear a melancholy strain 
Throb on the bosom of the stilly night. 

lonely bird, attune your plaintive voice 
And be the bard in this Elyseum. 

Daphne. Let me remain forever where I am 
Ye gentle gods : then whatsoelse I ask, 
J)eny it me. 

Tel. Nay, Daphne, come away : 

1 have a world of love and talk in store. 
And you must listen to me. 

[Exeunt Daphne and Telemachus. 
IJlyfi, How now, how! 

I meant to catch this couple with a trap ; 
But Cupid hath already killed my game 
With bow and quiver. Well, 'tis better so: 
The little marksman often shoots the bird, 
No toil can capture. Webs are frail or awkward : 
His bolt is certain. — All things prosper well: 
I find, I have more friends in Ithaca 
Than dare confess allegiance. Timid men. 
Albeit they are honest, will submit 
To tyranny ; 3^et are they ever ready 



148 TelemacJms. 

To strike a potent blow for justice' sake, 

When certain of success. I have a plan 

Will freeze the blood of all iniquious men, 

And not an Ithacan but shall rejoice 

To own a monarch so beloved of Pallas, 

Than hundred kings, conspiring for his death. 

Can not prevail against him. Let me see : 

'Tis time Telemaclius should know his father, 

That henceforth we together go to work. 

He 'gins to move already ; for I learn. 

He thinks to free this suitor-ridden isle 

At no less cost than marriage of his mother. 

15oth queen and suitors having pledged their word, 

Tlie contract stands ; the day alone remains 

To be decided on. — Penelope, 

There's not a wonder on the face of the earth 

Unknown to me : thou art a miracle 

I do not understand, I marvel at it. 

Your deed is noble, yet is passing strange: 

Is wisely done, and still I like it not. 

1 had resolved to clasp thee to my heart 

When next we met, but I must first discover 

The reasons of your choice, and know beside 

How far your liking goes along in this. 

Enter Penelope. 

Pen. Is none within? 

Ulys. (Aside.) My wife ; in happy time.-— 

Your servant, madam. 



Telemachus, 149 

Pen. Is P^umaeus here? 

Ulys. No, lady ; shall 1 fetch him? 

Pen. Prithee do, 

Unless I may expect him speedily. 

Ulys. lie should be here by this. — Pray, have a 
seat. 

Peii. Thanks. J have seen you souiewhere, have 
I not? 
Yes, I remember now : you are the man 
That claims some recent knowledge of my husband. 

UJys. Aye, truly. 

Pen. Let me hear you speak of liim. 

There was a time, I welcomed such as you 
With dear attention ; but I never found 
Agreement in your stories : all were shaped 
To please, not to inform. Howe'er, speak on ; 
For j'ours will be the very tale of tales. 

Uly^. You must excuse me. When I first arrived 
It had been pleasure to obey 3'ou, niadam : 
But not so now. I grant, 1 am a beggar; 
But every beggar is not poor in love. 

Pen, No ceremony ; speak the substance of it. 

Ulys. I am too proud of your great husband, lady. 
To mention him w^here any other man 
O'ertops his estimation. 

Pea. Very well ; 

That is a privelege you may applj^ 
In proper places. 

Llys. Where's a properer place 

To pass in silence o'er a husband's name, 



150 Telemachus. 

Than here, before his well-beloved wife, 
Who, mindless of her honor and position, 
Rejects her husband, and with jocund heart 
Becomes the consort of a second spouse. 

Pen. Base villain, take that slander back again, 
Or, by the never perjured oath of Styx, 
I'll stab thee to the heart! No, no ; not so. 
I dare not freight my almost sinking bark 
With any further murder than my own. 
Cold, cruel guide, have patience but awhile: 
Here lies the vessel your unflinching hand 
Must pilot to the dim and unknown shore, 
Where neither moon nor sun illume the sky. — 
If ever after you have cause to speak 
Of queen Penelope, inform 3'our friends. 
That she had rather slumber with the bones 
Of dead Ulysses, in the slimy deep 
Where monsters house, than press the driven down 
Whereon Olympus sleeps. {Exit. 

Ulys. True, true as steel ! 

How could I settle any moment's doubt 
On her fidelity. It was unjust 
To make probation here ; yet heaven knows, 
That men must choose twixt knowledge and belief 
To gain conviction. What we know, we know ; 
But who can give assurance to our faith? 
I was not always prone to skepticism, 
And in my j^oung career did oft accept 
A fable for a fact. Now I have seen 
Nigh two score years of an adventurous life. 



Telemachus, 151 

And can no longer trust but what I see. 
It is a fault, but our declining years 
Increase the malady. Experience doubts. 
And doubting, looks for proof. 

Enter Penelope and Antinous. 

Ant. Your pardon, lady : 

I heard a noise, and, if I heard aright, 
Your gentle voice was raised in angry storm 
Against this beggar. 

Pen. He forgot himself ; 

And yet no further than his little soul, 
l^ntutored in the nobleness of woman. 
Did prompt his tongue. 

Ant. Nay, there is more in this, 

For you are strangely moA'ed. I do beseech you, 
Let mere}' not so far outweigh your wisdom 
To mitigate offense deserving death. 
One word, and I will send him on a journey 
Whose path sliall never cross 3^our eyes. 

Pen. Let be. 

Good night. 

Ant. Fair lady, do not leave me so. 

Pen. Not so? iiow then? 

Ant. Show me a spark of welcome. 

Look not amazedly. but let your eye 
Fall gently on my heart. Forget your sorrow, 
And walk no longer with down droo])ing lid 
Like stonv marble: for I know full well. 



152 Tele?n a ch us . 

Beneath your pale complexion dwells a flood 
As rich as Venus'. Do not frown upon ine, 
Or else my love, too timid to intrude, 
Will shrink away and chide me with presumption. 
Look you, Antinoiis kneels. 

Pen. He kneels for nothing. 

Ant. Is there no hope ? 

Pen. No hope without deceit. 

You ask for love, and since I have no love, 
I can not give it. 

Ant. You are cruel,, queen : 

I ask for welcome and receive rebuke. 

Pen. Not so: there's no offence if I decHne 
To promise what I know impossible. 

Ant. Impossibilities do not exist. 
And therefore nothing is impossible. 

Pen. Then is this nothing. You must know, An- 
tinoiis, 
That my intention, to accept the hand 
Of some one suitor, bears no blessing Mitli it : 
Who weds Penelope, weds but a name ; 
And all the joy that any ])rince can wdn 
From this ignoble bargain, sliall consist. 
In that he may acquaint tlie bal)bling world 
He holds possession of Ulysses' wife. 

Ant. If your unchallenged husband were alive, 
The goodly qualities than I can boast 
Might dwindle with compare: but, gracious lady. 
The gods, considering him too great for earth. 
Have raised him to the clouds. Do not expect 



Tele niachus. i i^ 3 

To see a man whose fame and fair proportion 
Can matcli (he counterfeit in your mind's eye. 
But he is dead, l)ey()nd your pale of ehoiee, 
Wiiieii needs must fall, aecordino- to agreement, 
On one of us. 

Pen. And so it shall, Antinoiis. 

Ant. Then lind a freedom in necessit}'^ : 
Do not forever linger in the past. 
Hut let remembianee, learning to forget. 
Subdue his Mazon, and no longer vex 
Your days to come with unsubstantial joy. 
For one dead husband, fortune sends you now 
.V hundred suitors, kings and noble men, 
Kiom wjiieh to choose another. — We all know. 
There are some days in every mortal's life 
NN'hose rapture and content so fill our soul, 
That we stand still, lest any act of ours 
Uncharm the spell: and we eoujure (he gods 
To stretch these blessed days unto our death. 
Hut when oui- hearts are sick witli many sorrows, 
A change, an active change, alone can cure. — 
^\ ho lives ill h()|)e should learn in haste to act: 
The future ever lingers with his like, 
We must persuade it hither: you :ire wise; 
And wisdom will not let occasion pass. 

Pen. I will consider well wIkiI yon have spoken ; 
lint, for the present, pray yon, pardon me 
From any further compromise than this: 
Peneloi)e esteems your love as highly 
As anv suitor's else. 



154 Telemach us. 

Ant. No more ? 

Pen. No more. 

Ant. O gentle lady, if this tongue of mine 
Had grown as quickly in the art of speech 
As you have grown in this poor bleeding lieart, 
You would not say me nay. But my vocation^ 
E'er since a boy, was in the ranks of war ; 
And my rude tongue, accustomed to command 
Where shrilly trumpets l)low, has lost its music 
And can no longer sound the notes of love. 
There's not a gilded youth among our luimber 
But hath advantage of the candied phrase. 
Which I do not possess ; but here's a heart 
Holds more affection than the total sum 
Of twenty other men. — My kingdom lies 
Far towards the rising sun ; our glorious clime- 
Knows not wluit winter is ; our bounteous fields, 
Which fruitful Plioebus kisses day by day, 
Produce abundance of the richest grain ; 
My people love their monarch, and would die 
To humor his caprice ; my gallant soldiers 
Are called the children of the fiery Mars, 
Bv those who fear our angfer. Come Avith me; 
There you shall hold a station that no woman 
Did ever reach, and none are worthy of 
Except your i)erfect self. Speak but one word. 
And all is well where all before was ill. 
I will not, must not, can not be denied. 

IJlyf^. Antinoiis! — I beg your pardon, sir: 
I was asleep, and in my dream 1 felt 
Your fingers on my throat. \_Exit Peneuum:. 



Telemachus. 155 

Ant. Perfidious wretcb, 

If your condition crawled not in tlio dust, 
I'd think your dream a lie; and for a lie 
I'd cut your stumbling throat. Bet^oue, I say. 
Abandon Ithaca as it were hell. 
If three days from to-night you still are found 
Within the confines of our territory, 
I'll bring 3'our dream to ])ass ; for, by the gods, 
When next we meet, 'tis death. 

IJlys. So let it l)e. 

Three da^s will answer. 

Ant. Hence ! 

Ulys. Three days will do. 

[Exit. 

Ant. She's gone. No matter; I will have her yet : 
Being bound to choose, she'll do the best she can ; 
And who of all the suitors can propose 
An honest offer that will show so well 
As my good seeming. — 1 suspect this fellow, 
And sometimes do believe he is not that 
I know he is. He squirms about the city, 
And I have seen him in a dozen places 
Stand close in talk w^ith men not of our faction. 
Wlio parted company with careless mien 
When one ai)proached. I'll have an e3'e on you. 

{Exit. 

Enter Tklkmacius and Ulysses. 

Tel. You saw them here.'' 
Ulys. I did. 



156 Tele7n achus, 

Tel. How long is that ? 

XJlys. Why, even now. 

Tel. Antinoiis and my mother? 

t%.s. Were both together here a wink ago. 

Tel. That's very strange. 

Ulys. I pray 3011, let me follow. 

Tel. Came tliej^ together? 

Ulys. No. 

Tel. Nor went together? 

Ulys. I can not tell. May I inform the queen 
That I am sent b}^ you to bring her here? 

Tel. You may. [^Exit Ulysses. 

This fellow is a curious chap. 
They say, his tribe is lazy ; but, indeed, 
This is a busy beggar. Night and day 
He bustles through the town, and but I knew 
He holds me well, I'd sift him. He's a mole 
That digs unseen, and these unseen contriver? 
Are doubly dangerous. Still, I fear him not, 
Because he dearly hates my enemies. 
And every foe of theirs is friend to me. 
He pressed me hard to spend the night with him. 
Having, he saj'^s, some secrets to impart 
That touch upon the kingdom and myself. 
I wonder what he means. 

Enter Ulysses and Penkhu-e. 

Tel. Good even, mother! 

Ulys. (Aside.) Her wedding day will bring her 
burial with it, 



Tclemachus. 157 

I'nless I strip this outside hei^gar off. 

No, time is not yet ripe for this delivery, 

And if I force it off, it may miscarry. 

Besides, some guilty fellows will escape, 

And 1 have sworn, that every man of them 

Shall have his just deserts. My net is cast, 

But I ;nu not prepared to draw it out 

For some fcAv days ; still, in the interim 

I might confess myself to her in private. 

Yet there's a risk, however slight it be. 

That by some fault in nature she may fail 

To recognize me. No, that will not do. 

There must be something yet. Help, Pallas, help I 

This brain, that cut a lireach in Priam's city 

Enough to let a thousand chariots in. 

Will not be long in labor to discover 

Some slight escape from this predicament. 

Pen. Telemachus, since last we spoke together, 
I have with nuich reluctance shaped m^^ will 
To your desire, which, I am content, 
(ioes hand in hand with honor to ourselves 
And duty to our countr3^ I am read}' 
To wed at once. 

Tel. And whom have you selected? 

Ven. Alas, 1 had forgot to think of that. 

Ulys. Let me suggest, that all things being equals 
So far as inclination gives the bent, 
Suppose you set these suitors on their merit. 
And by some rival contest find the man 
Superior to the rest? 



158 Teleinachus. 

Tel. I like it well. 

Although the best of them is less than welcome, 
Yet will the best be least objectionable. 
How say 3'ou, mother? 

Pen. I am satisfied. 

Tel. Now, let me see. 

Ulys. Tell me, have you not seen 

A weapon that Ulysses used to wear ? 
It was a bow, cut from the stubborn tree 
That Phoebus clipped his Pythean arrow from. 

Pen. I know it well: 'tis in, my chamber locked. 

Tel. Oh, let me see that bow. 

Pe7i. My gentle son. 

No man did ever bend that sounding bow 
But your great father. It were labor lost 
If these attempt it. 

Tel. That's the very thing : 

If none can draw the bow, none draws the prize. 

Pen. Penelope would be the victor then. 
But, no ; they will not be so foolish proud 
To venture all for nothing. 

Tel. I'll be sworn. 

They'll make the bargain. 

Ulys. {Aside.) Aye, and break it, too. 

Tel. I pray you let me look upon the weapon 
That knows no master. 

Pen. Follow me. Good night. 

2eL Wait here awhile, I will return again. 

\_Exeunt Telemachus and Penelope. 



Teletn achiis. 159 

rV^.s. To-niglit, Teleinaclius shall have a father; 
'J'o-inorrow, every subject firm and true, 
Each loyal Ithacan, shall have a king; 
And next day after, we will spring the trap 
That kills a hundred suitors at a clap. 



ACT V. 



SCENE L— Before Ulysses' Palace. 

Enter Telejiachus and Ulysses. 

Tel. The day is ours if you can bend the bow : 
But I do fear it. Twenty years ago 
You may have done so : but consider, father, 
Then is not now. Each of the twenty years, 
Wherein the bow unstrung lay in the closet. 
Did serve to make it more inflexible. 
Unused to obey your lusty arm. 
Which, in the years that rendered it so proud. 
May have grown humble. 

Ulys. Leave the bow to me : 

It is a trick of skill, no brunt of power. — 
But Menelaiis, and my old friend Nestor, 
How is't with them ? I know they welcomed you ; 
But was it in a fashion that evinced 
An interest in our cause ? or was it such 



i6o Tcleinachus. 

As current ceremony bid them pay 
To one of your estate ? 

Tel. Their love is honest. 

I do not know a thing they left undone, 
Which, having done, could set me more at ease, 
To know their friendship mine. 

Vlijs. To what effect? 

What proof of friendship did the}^ offer 3'ou? 

Tel. A thousand, father. Every man 1 saw 
Professed some obligation to yourself ; 
And, like an honest debtor, seemed full glad 
That my necessity might yield occasion 
To balance credits. Menelaiis said : 
lie fought for me, and I will tight for you ; 
Command me when you will. 

Ulys. He loves me well. 

Tel. Here comes my cue to go. 

TJlys. In happy time. 

Telemachus ! 

Tel. How now? 

Ulys Know you his daughter? 

Tel. Wliose daughter? 

Ulys. His? 

Tel. Aye, slightly: what of her? 

Ulys. I want some pretty and courageous girl 
To undertake a dangerous business for me, 
And thought, perhaps, you had acquaintance with her 
Beyond a compliment. — But get thee gone : 
The suitors will draw hither by and b5^ 
Receive them with a bounty of affection, 



Telemachus, i6i 

As you were one of them : be free and merry, 
And let a careless liavior be a guide 
To misdirect them. 

Tel. 1 have known the girl 

For many years. What is it — 

^^8' Nothing now. 

We must not walk together : fare you well. 

{Exit Telemachus. 

Enter Eumaeus. 

How now, my friend? 

Ewni. The city swims in wine. 

By your command the cellars are unbolted, 
And now the rab})le till their senseless trunks 
With golden streams, won from the mellow years 
Of your old grandsire. Oh, 'tis pitiful ! 
You had enough to drown them, and to keep 
The best for better uses. 

^lys. Let it go ! 

We'll charge them for't: each drop of ruddy wine 
Is writ against them, and a drop of blood 
Alone can wipe it out. — There's no suspicion? 

Eum. None certain ; yet our secret can not sleep 
For many hours. 

^^^S' Is our shipping safe? 

Eum. Aye, sir : our trusty vessels we have drawn 
High on the beach : wjiilemany treacherous bottoms, 
That can not live so long as one tells hundred, 
Appear in full tMiuipment. 

—11 



i62 Telcmachns. 

Ulys. You gave word 

To bar the gate behind the siiitor-traiu? 

Eum. My lord, I did. 

Vlys. Then let the dance begin. 

Set three parts of our men along the road 
That leads unto the harbor ; and the rest, 
They shall appear disguised as foreigners, 
And mingle with the suitors. None shall stir 
Until my trumpet sounds; and tell them, too, 
From then until the setting of the sun 
Is all the time I'll give them to avenge 
The grievous tyranny of twenty years. — 
So fare thee well, Eumaeus. If we die, 
We die for something ; and if we do live. 
As I do think we shall, we need not blush 
Nor make excuses for't. Send me your daughter. 

\^Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — The Gkkat Hall in Ulysses' Palace. 

Enter Eumaeus and servants ivith poles and rings. 

Eum. Nay, here begin, and plant them in a line 
Directly hence ; a step apart will bring 
The last one here. The second is too high : 
There, that will do. Evander, take this cord, 
And draw it through the rings from first to last. 
Hold me this end. Now I will bend the rings 
So to a common centre, that a man 



TeJem ack ns. 163 

Standing before will seem to have a task 
One twelfth of what it is : one ring he'll see, 
And nothing more. 

Enter a troop of Suitors. 

Good morrow, gentlemen. 
How say you to the rings? 

^ Suit. A school boy's game. 

Eum. My lord, I think you speak it hastily. 
Your comment is quite pretty, I confess ; 
But were it not a trifle more in the meaning 
To speak it after? 

^ Suit. If Telemachus 

Will give a queen to all that shoot the rings, 
He'll have to crown them first ; and then, methinks, 
He'll fall behind his promise, lest he have 
A trick to fashion women. 

o Suit. 'Tis a toy 

A l)eggar might display to win a crust 
From children and old women. 

^ Suit. Why, my friend, 

I have a boy at home not ten years old 
Would do't and feel offended at your praise. 

Eum. You should have brought him with you. 

Enter Antinous, V-BHi>,s's\i¥.n and m&re Suitors. 

^eis. For myself, 

I have no faith in all this flummery, 
VYhich is a task beyond our scope and power, 



1 64 Tel em achus. 

Or else a bauble that the most of us 
Can reach without an effort. 

Ant. Ne'ertheles?^ 

We'll use the bow-test as a flail, Peisander, 
To winnow out the chaff. If few survive, 
We may effect a peace by compromise : 
For instance, if yourself and I alone 
Should prove the victors in this controversy, 
How easily might we yield each other all, 
And both be satisfied. 

1 Suit. Antinoiis! 

A7it. Well? 

1 Suit. Since when are we obliged to stand and 

w^ait 
Until this half fledged bawcock feels an itch 
To flit before us? 

A7it. Where's Telemachus? 

Suit. What, ho! Telemachus! 

2 Suit. Let be, I'll fetch him. 
Ant. Stay, here he comes. 

Enter Telemachus and Penelope. 

Tel. Your pardon, gentle sirs,, 

For this detention. Had I been arrested 
By any ordinary incident 

I were to blame ; but you shall be convinced^ 
It was a matter bearing hard upon 
Our present enterprise. — Shall I ascend, 



TelcniachiLS. 165 

And with a few brief words prelude the action 
Of this day's business? 

Peis. At your service, sir 

Enter I^ly.sses ana Daphne. 

Tel. Kings, princes, potentates, and noble men 
Come hither from the four winds of tlie earth, 
1 bid you welcome. If Telemachus 
In years gone by did lack civility. 
And that his havior smacked unpalatable 
To many here, I charge you to rememljer 
The greenness of his years. I pray you all. 
Let this cojointure of our dual purpose^ 
Proceeding as it did from me, not 3'ou, 
Rest proof sufficient, that the present day 
Comes inl}^ wished for ; — nay, doth please me more 
Than any one of you. When I behold 
This martial concourse of heroic men, 
I feel indebted to the generous gods, 
Who lill my house with more celebrit}' 
Than any one roof sheltered heretofore. 
And my good mother need not hang her head 
To see her fame and fortune win a crown. 
Which to create, a hundred warlike nations, 
Crete, Samos, Chos, Dulichium and the rest. 
Have sent this flowery garland to our house. 
The fabled loadstone, whose magnetic power 
An ancient man of the sea did use to still 
Into mv infant ears, did not entice 



1 66 Telemach us. 

The wailing mariners to grim perdition 

]More quickly than our queen. Good gentlemen. 

Look you, here is the bow. 

Ant. Let me examine. 

Td. Stand back, Antinoiis ! 

Ayit. Let me have the bow. 

Td. Stand back, I say ; or by the spleeny iNIars,. 
I have a sword. 

Ant. And so have I. Come down 

And cross it, if you dare. 

Daphne. Good gentlemen, 

Forbear your weapons. — But a breath ago, 
A gentle harmony pervaded here ; 
Such holiday conditions as befit 
A merry wedding-day: when, at a jump, 
A dozen wea])OMs start into the air. 
Quick drawn for battle. What will be the end. 
If now, in the very germ of what's to come, 
There sprouts a discord to propel your arms 
Ajjainst each other? All the skillful care. 
Enlisted to preserve this glorious day 
A landmark in the Hood of running years. 
Will never save it, lest your sudden hands 
Are reft of tliese peace-breaking implements. — 
Give me your sword, Antinoiis; you are older, 
And therefore wise. Yours, prince Telemachus, — 
I am a judge that stands on ecpiity, — 
Come, give it me. Yours, to(^ my noble lord : 

[^Deliver their sicords as recpiested. 

Yours, vours and yours — nav, 1 will have them all. 



Telemachus, 167 

Aiit. If any man retains a weapon here, 
I call him toward. 

TJlys. (^Asid<\) Hetter t'owod than killed. 

Tel. Here, I)ai)hne, take the bow. 

Daphne. Keep you the how, 

And make division of it. 

{The weapons have all been cast on a heap. Dathne 
gradnalUf carries them out. Exit Daphne.) 

Tel. Heaven forbid, 

My sword shonld injure any honest man. 
The canons of almighty Jui)iter 
Were never forii^ed to kill ; and these, our weapons, 
Hein^i; as 'twere an umbrage of his greatness, 
Are better marshalled to maintain a peace. 
Than cut a breach in't. — I do much repent 
INFy hasty humor. I forgot myself; 
Pray, yon forget it, too. 

Pels. Telemachus, 

A fault confessed is lit to be condoned, 
And we forgive you. Js't not so, Antinoiis? 

Ant. I care not. 

Tel. Thanks. 

Ant. Methinks, we talk too uuich : 

I move we take the matter now in hand. 

Tel. AVe shall proceed with our solemnity 
In all due course and i)r()per ceremony. 

Ant. I came not here to listen, nor to talk ; 
I ramc to work. 



1 68 Teleniachus, 

Vlys. (Aside.) And shall't be satisfied. 

Tel. You all do know, that queen Penelope 
Married my father, for he was a man 
Unequaled in the exercise of skill : 
And b}^ the dint of this, Ulysses' bow, 
She means to make discovery, which of you 
Comes next to him. If more than one succeed 
In piercing all the rings with a single shaft, 
The several winners shall be left to choose, 
In any manner that to them seems good, 
The winner of the winners. — Then again : 
If this poor weapon have too proud a back 
To stoop before such honorable men, 
Your prize is nothing, and we needs must think 
Than manhood perished on the plains of Troy. — 
Penelope, I charge vou by the love 
Which you profess to harbor for your husband. 
That you'll consent to marry him who proves 
More potent than the sum of all the rest. 

Fen. I do consent. 

Tel. Ye rivals of her hand , 

Confirm the part of contract you do bear 
With stubborn oath: swear by the doom of death, 
Which now or later strikes the best of you. 
That whatsoever be the end of this. 
That end is welcome. Swear ! 

SnU. and Ulys. • By Stix, we swear. 

A)it. Who bids thee speak? Havel not pledged 
my word 
To strike thee dead? How dare vou cross me here ? 



Tc1e7nachus. 169 

67//.S. IVIy l(nxl, y<ju gave 1110 three days to (lei)art ; 
And l)y your leave. to-da3' is only two: 
If you can lind me anywhere to-morrow, 
My head is yours. — (^Aside.^ But yours is mine to-day. 

Pels. Why, what a wrangler this is grown to ])e . 
iNIy good Antinoiis, you forget yourself 
To loose the spleeny humors of your wrath 
So far from your degree. 

Tel. My loving mother, 

Tlie while contention sits upon our brow 
Withdraw into 3^onr chamber : when we know 
The issue of it, we shall summon you. 

\Mxit Penelope. 
Antinoiis, you shall be the first to try, 
For you were ever anxious to j^recede. 
J3ring him the bow ; and from this mortal quiver, 
Whose nimble dwellers never yet did leave 
Their housing for a lesser mark than man. 
Let him select an arrow for the nonce. 

Ant. Strange wood.: I never saw the like before. 
Telemachus, we understand this bow 
, To have been your father's customary weapon? 

Ulys. Aye, sir. 

Pels. What proof or witness can you show? 

lJly>^. That I have seen him use it many a time. 

Pels. And where was that? 

TJly>^. Why, here in Ithaca ; 

And in Messene , whence he journeyed once 
'J\) free liis stolen shei)herd. and their sheep. 



170 Tele7H a ch us^ 

Pels, You were right well acquainted with him 
then? 

XJlys. Oh, yes. 

Pels. And, for a need, 3'ou could supply 

Some further information, could you not? 

Vlys. Mere trifles, sir. 

Pe?s. Well, you ma}^ keep them in. 

Vlys. Most' willingly, good sir. Yet, by and l)ye, 
I know 3"our highness will not spare attention. 

Ant. Bend, bend or break. O'erwhelming Her- 
cules, 
Ingraft me with the iron of your arms. — 
Telemachus, you'd make a fool of me : 
No mortal hand can ever stretch a cord 
Across this bow. 

Tel. Nay, not so quick, Antinoiis. 

Think you, the flaming sun above our head 
Stands still, because the motion of his car 
Depends not your puny impotence? 
You've had your turn, now let another try. 

Pels. I can not do it. 

^Td. Pass it further on. 

1 Suit. Nay, after you. 

2 Suit. I have no mind to try. 
Tel. What, so dejected? 

3 Suit. Here, we waste our time 
To make endeavor where Antinoiis fails. 

Tel. If in the virtue of your noble number 
There lives not nerve enough for one poor weapon, 
I'll join the list ; and if I bend the bow. 



Telenuuhus, 17 ^ 

It shall be tninipeted from age to age, 
That, once in Ithaca, a weakling boy, 
For you were ever fond to call me so. 
Did there defy a hundred war-proof men, 
With unstrung sinews. Let me have the bow. 

Pels. Your tongue betrays your heart, Telemachus , 
And we do see it's color. Be assured. 
We carry lines can fathom your affection. 

XJlys. Let me essay. 

Ant. I'll pitch him out of doors. 

TJlys. How now? does great Antinoiis fear a 
beggar ? 

1 Suit. And if the rascal have the trick to do't. 
May he not wed the queen ? 

Tel. Perchance, he may. 

Ant. Hold, villain! 

Tel. Get thee back, Antinoiis. 

A7it. Where is my sword? 

Suit. See, how he bends the bow. 

Ulys. Here's one — 

Ant. What do I see? 

Ulys. And here's another. 

Ant. I fall, Peisander. 

Ulys. {Drops Jiis disguise.) Look upon me now! 
Behold. I am Ulysses! 

Suit. Treachery ! 

The king, the king! Wliere be our weapons, lio ! 
Fly for your lives ! 

lExeunt Suitors jmrsupcl by all but Ulysses.] 



172 Tele^n ackus, 

Ulys. Now I can breathe again. 

Have at them, friends: the gates are barred without. 
Kill whom you must and capture those you can, 
For we shall fix a ransom on their lives, 
Tenfold of what the3^'ve stolen. 

Ant. Sta}^, awhile. 

TJlys. Art thou alive? 

Ant. No, I am dead, Ulysses, 

And slain hy you. Oh, it was nobly done : 
It was the kind of death that Paris gave 
To great Achilles. You have won much honor. 
To slay a man unweaponed, as I was ; 
And you in arms and iron, top and toe. 
You are right welcome to't. {Dies.) 

Ulys. So perish all 

That creep like vipers on the holy shrine 
Of Juno's temple, and with slippery tongue 
Try to corrupt an undefended wife, 
In absence of her husband. Would to heaven, 
That all the future husbands of my race 
Did follow my example. — What's the news? 

Enter Eumaeus. 

Eum. Great monarch, we have won. The da}' is 
ours. 
And not an enemy without the walls 
Knows what hath chanced within. 

Ulys. Go, call my wife. 

How fares Telemachus? 

Eum. He is on fire, 



Teleniachiis. 173 

And strikes his sword upon the guilty heads 
Like Vulcan's hammer on Achilles' mail 

TJhjs. Let him have scope. But see, here comes 
my wife. 

Enter Penelope. 

Penelope ! 

Ten. My husband ! 

JJlys. Twenty years 

Of toil and danger is a beggar's price 
For this completement. I am satisfied, 
That I have suffered nothing, but in this 
Finds his requital. 

Ten. You are here a month, 

And I did look upon you, day by day, 
And 3'ou were silent. 

JJlys. You must pardon that. 

In Pelion's lofty head there's not a voice 
Would shout the echo of loud thundering Jove 
More quickl}^ than this tongue of mine had sounded 
The echo of my heart ; but, my dear wife, 
When I beheld our garden grown with weeds, 
1 knew that I must need assert myself 
With something more than words, — and so I did. 
Here comes our son. 

E7iter Telemachus. 

Tel. Give me your blessing, father. 

And mother, yours. 



174 Telemackus, 

JJlys. ' Arise, Telemachus : 

For, ill to-day's occurrence, we have seen 
That 3^ou possess the skillful qualities 
That kings are made of; and, when I am dead, 
The tribe of Ithaca will have a monarch 
They need not blush to own. — Now, one thing more: 
'Tis proper that a man should have a wife, 
And therefore I have ta'en upon myself 
To furnish you. 

Tel. But, father— 

Ulys. Still, awhile ; 

And tell me not your liking more inclines 
To war than women. 

Tel. Listen to me, father. 

Ulys. Do not deny my choice until you know it. 
For she is one that dearly dotes on 3'ou ; 
A woman proud enough to be a queen, 
Albeit she is a shepherd. And, beside, 
1 have already promised her mj^ son 
In lieu of weighty service rendered me. 

Tel. Daphne? 

Ulys. The same. 

Tel. O, this is more than kind. 

l^Exit Telemachus. 

Ulys. What say you, wife? 

Fen. The match was in my mind 

Since they were children. 

Ulys. Are you one in this, 

My faithful friend? 



Telcmachiis. 175 

E^im. She is my only child, 

And prince Teleniachus the only man 
That shall possess both lier and my consent. 

Enter Telemaohus and Daphne. 

Tel. Here is my angel. Daphne, speak to him. 

Ulys. We need no introduction, my good son, 
For she and I have been familiar friends 
Since my recurrence is an hour old. 

DaplDie. There was a kind of favor in 3 our voice 
Which told me from the first we should be friends. 

Ulys. And are you satisfied to be my daughter? 

Daphne. Great sir, I am unworthy of such honor ; 
But my fond heart so loves Telemachus, 
I must accept your greatness, and the pains 
To equal my advancement. 

Ulys. This is well : 

When father, mother, bridegroom, and the bride 
Concur with liberal heart in these elections. 
We close the contract with as firm a seal 
As man can fashion 'gainst the hand of time. — 
Nor shall we be the losers in this match, 
For in the heyday of our children's love 
Our jo3^s will find reflection. 

Pen. I do fear. 

Your restless spirit will again set out 
To win new honors from immortal fame ; 



176 Telemachiis. 

And I, your wife, will be again ordained 
To wait and weep for you. 

Ulys. Believe me, no. 

I have restored our Helen to her home, 
And that was e'er the end of my ambition. 
I shall no more depart from Ithaca, 
But here abide by you, my faithful wife ; 
Whose constancy shall never be forgot 
While poets have a tongue. Penelope 
Will shine as everlasting as the sun ; 
And as the husband of so good a wife 
I, too, will be remembered. 



^NEAS, 



A DRAMA. 



—12 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



^NEAS, a Trojan Hero. 

MISENUS, \ 

EURYALUS, \ Followers of yEneas. 

GYAS, J 

CORINTHUS, a Trojan, 

IjYSANDER, a Carthaginian Statesinan. 

HERMES, Messenger of the Oods. 

The Ghost of Anchises. 

DIDO, Queen of Carthage. 

ANNA, S'isler to Dido. 

BARGE, Nurse to Dido. 

Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, Sailors, Trojans, 
Carthaginians, etc., etc. 

SCENE— Carthage. 



c^neas, 179 



^NEAS. 



ACT I. 



SCENE I. — Coast near Carthage. 

Enter Cokinthus and another Trojan — ivet. 

1 Tro. What, ho, Sarpedoii! 

Cor. Let the villains go. 

1 Tro. We've lost our way. 

Cor. But have acquired that 

Which made it worth the losing. Simple gull : 
He told me he was royal messenger 
Commissioned by the state to V)ear this gold 
To King larbas. I have heard, Aletes, 
Experience makes a dull man often wise ; 
And, by the sum of this, it were not strange 
If he grew wise as Greek Ulysses was, 
¥ov lie experienced something, did he not? 

1 Tro. Come, let us kindle fire ; I am cold 
With Neptune's salty wash. From this day on 



i8o ALneas, 

I will not budge an inch but I do walk it ; 
Nor will I tempt the anger of a god, 
Who sometime yet will send us all to Styx 
If we offend him furtlier. 

Mmier two more Trojans. 

3 Tro. Fear not that : 
We have appeased the watery deity 
With offerings of a bull and floods of wine. 

4 Tro. And so we did ; our hearts are big with 

thanks 
For Neptune's kind escape. 

Cor. You mock the Greeks, 

Who burn the bones and tallow to the gods, 
And eat the rest themselves. \_Singing heard without. 

3 Tro. Had they but eaten 
You would not hear this song. Now Bacchus rides 

them 
With lash and spur. 

1 Tro. Come, let us rein them in ; 

For if the}^ plunge not into some mischance, 
Their stars have credit for't. 

4 Tro. This is not well. 
All indications lead me to suppose 

A flux of habitation hereabout ; 

Some well developed state of peaceful men 

Who ill receive such riot. 

Cor. Here we are. 



yEneas. i8i 

Enter more Trojans — drunk. 

5 Tro. Let Neptune swani}) nie into Pluto's den, 
But this wine came from Chios. — Years ago, 
When I was sent with Priam's embassy 
To win the island Ivings, — Look, Nantes, look I 
Here sits a bunch of Trojan water-rats. 
Heigh, are you dead or drowned? 

Cor. But wet without, 

Whilst you are drowned within. 

'T Tro. No quarrel now ; 

I would not harm my enemy to-day, 
3Iuch less my brother. Bacchus' friendly fire 
Inspires me to surround the world in arms, 
Including hell and heaven. 

1 Tro. Where's il^^neas? 

o Tro. By Hector's mighty arm 'tis one to me. 

Cor. And where Sarpedon, and the rest of you? 

.'T Tro. Plague take the lynx-ej-ed rogue ! While we 
were eating 
His knavish eye lit on a sylvan dame, 
Which he pursued like wind ; and by the bustle 
The hunter had his game. 

Enter a Carthaginian officer and soldiers. 

Off. What make you here ? 

Cor. No kin of yours, I hope. 

Off. Forbear your arms ; for there are more of us 
Than you would wish to fight with. Bind them sol- 
diers. 

\_Soldiers bind the Trojans. 



i82 ySneas. 

Lodge them securely in the prison-house 
Where we have stowed the others ; I'll to court, 
There to communicate the rank behavior 
Of these sea-roaming pirates. 

1 Tro. Pirates, sir ! 

We are Trojaa soldiers, fellows of ^Eneas ; 
If you molest us, he shall know of it. 

Off. Silence ! I doubt not, by your argument 
We, and not you, should be to prison sent. [Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — Another part of the coast. 

Enter TT^neas and Gyas. 

^En. Who told you so? 

Gyas. Why, our Sicilian friend, 

Acestes, at whose court there was a man 
Who had seen the end o' the earth. From him I heard 
That eastward from the gate of Hercules 
The long-lived Ethiops dwell ; and next to these, 
A tribe of people, neither white or black, — 
Numidians, that's the name ; their king, larbas ; — 
And east of these, the colony of Tyre 
Which erst I spoke of, and where now we are. 

^En. But, for all that, you may be wrong, good 
Gyas ; 
Since the tumultuous bandits of the sea 
Robbed us of all direction, and the clouds 
Did wipe the face of Phoebus from our eyes 
For three successive days. 



y^Eneas,. 183 

Q^as. I'll "O*- ^® sworn on't ; 

Our judgment wari)s with wishing,— still, I hope. 

^En. If I remember right, a ({ueen rules here ; 
One Dido, whom the king Acestes praised 
Beyond the ken of speech : unparalleled 
In mind and person, did he draw her out ; 
A Helen and Ulysses, two in one. 
If he spake true, and your presentiment 
Runs not more nimbly than the gait of truth, 
We shall not lack caparison to reach 
Our e'er receding goal. 

Enter Euryalus. 

Gycis. Euryalus! 

Eur. 'Tis well 1 lind you here. 

^^,^^^ Oood newSjOr bad? 

Eur. Botli. 

^En. Know you where we are? 

^y^^y Near Carthage, sir. 

Gyas. Thus may a strange conviction come to pass 
E'en when our working-day conclusions pall. 

^E)i. And furthermore,— proceed. 

Eur. That one word, Carthage, 

Exhausts the measure of my joyful tidings. 
And the remainder message savors ill. 

.En. Out with't, Euryalus. You speak to one 
That winks not at the random strokes of fate : 
And, as for you, misfortune's Mercury, 
Art but an instrument, no part of it. 

Eur. Then know, ^Eneas, some of our companions 



184 yEneas. 

Have by a troop of Carthaginian soldiers 
Been bound and lodged in prison ; there to rest 
Until the queen pass sentence. 

^n. Their offence? 

Eur. I know not, sir ; but by the stir 0' the people, 
They stand accused of such indignities 
As may offend their lives. 

u^n. I'll stay the queen. 

Some little while hereafter seek me there. 
These Trojan spirits have been reared in war ; 
I cannot blame them much: the season's circle 
Hath swung a tenfold passage o'er the earth 
Since they were one with peace. Farewell, till then. 

Eur. But that your wisdom suffers no addition, 
I'd urge my company. \_Exit ^Eneas. 

Oyas. lAiryalus ! 

Eur. What say 3'ou, Gyas? 

Gyai^. Look 3'ou, follow him ; 

In the same distance will I after you : 
For though his mother's guardage hover o'er him, 
He may have service of a friendly arm. 

Eur. Your kindness prompts me. 

Gyaii. I'll be with you soon. 

\_Exit EUHYALUS. 

Henceforth I'll shift alone ; for to continue 

In obstinate allegiance, renders me 

His lackey, nothing more. The torch of fame 

Burns so refulgent on ilOneas' brow, 

That his surroundings are incased with l)lack ; 

And I, his chosen friend, by contrast show 



^neas. 185 

The direst difference, — I must break witli liim, 

Albeit I cannot cross him : for 'tis said, 

He stalks bo^^ond the confines and the stops 

That nature marks for ordinary' men. 

And I myself had proof on't when in Troy: 

For once, upon Scamander's fruitful plain. 

He dared confront the devil Diomed, 

Shrieking- for slaughter ; head to heels in blood 

The (rreekish monster burst our brazen ranks, 

And swept the Held like whirlwind. With a shout 

^lOneas calls on Diomed to stand ; 

And that, forsooth, had been his final challenge, 

J5ut for the intervention of a god. 

Thrice did the giant warrior make essay 

To crush ^l^^neas with o'erwhelming bulk. 

And thrice Apollo smote Tydides' shield, — 

The brunt whereof did shake the walls of Troy, — 

Till balked in his intent, grim Diomed 

Slunk from the lield disgusted, with a curse 

Against the biased god. — Things standing thus, 

A seeming service towards ^l^^neas' cause 

Will most advantage me in my behalf, 

Until occasion claps. Till then, sit still: 

A blessing often bears a show of ill. [Exit. 



1 86 ^^neas. 

SCENE III.— Dido's Pala( k. 

Dido, Anna, Lysandeh, dignitaries, officers, guards 
and attendants. Dum seated on a throne, hi the 
rear^ soldiers guarding the captured Trojans. 

Dido. What needs our presence here? Lysander, 
speak ; 
And s])eak it roundly, for the cares of state 
Weigh more op[)ressive on the composition 
Of woman's vohxtile and restless nature. 
Than on the staid and temi)ered (qualities 
Of man's unrutlled spirit. 

Lyii- Gracious queen, 

Your wisdom :ind that undefined power, 
l?y means whereof you sway the will of all 
To do you homage, have so far prevailed, 
That we no longer need molest your ear 
With pitiful relation, or the tale 
Of sad defeat. By your auspicious guidance 
A kingdom sprouts ui)on this desert sand. 
Whose branching foliage offers peace and i)lciity 
To all who seek it here. And were it not 
That such full flushed abundance rouses envy 
In our unprosperous neighbors, yon might challenge 
'I'he ruler of Olympus to the lists. 
And tell him proudly, this domain of Carthage 
Co-rivalled his. 

Dido. Thanks for 3'our praise. Lysander. 

Is there no further business to conclude? 



y^neas, 187 

Lys. None toucluDg Carthage ; though I have for 
yon 
Souie private grief in store. 

Enter ^I^^neas and Gya8, unseen by those present. 

Dido. Unfokl it here : 

Dido is Carthage' (pieen ; lience, Dido's danger 
Endangers Cartilage, too. 

Lys. Without the palace 

There stays a horseman from Numidia, 
Who bids me tell our ([ueeil, that great lar])as 
Kecpiests her hand in marriage. She refusing, 
He will eclipse us with a cloud of horse, 
And override the realm with fire and sword. 

Dido. While this comes somewhat sudden, 1 have 
heard it 
Through unolticial channels. 15id the fellow 
Grant me some little time for contemi)lation ; 
Meanwhile, in special council, we'll consider 
Our best expedience. If our senate there 
Conclude my exile for my country's good, 
IVfost willingly will I accept the sentence. 
And bow to their decree for Carthage' sake. 
Come sister, let us in. 

[vEneas about to speak, retires when Lvsandek begins.] 

Lys. But one word more : 

Our soldiers have this morning apprehended 
Some dozen base marauders, whom the sea 
Belched over night on shore : since which 1 efell. 
They have committed every lieinous deed 



i88 yEneas, 

Within the scroll of crime. We led them hither, 
Because they claim allegiance to iEneas, 
The Trojan prince ; the only man of note 
That 'scaped the sack of Troy. 

Dido. Came he along? 

Officer. Aye, madame ; so they say. 

An7ia. Why start you so? 

Dido. How? Why, why should I start? Go fetch 
him hither. [^Exit attendant. 

We'll teach this scion of barbarian stock 
We are not german to his country's customs. 
What does he here in Carthage? Have the bounds 
Of human habitation so contracted, 
That all the unmeasured regions of the earth 
Afford no other spot but our dominion 
For him and his allies? Night's wandering stars, 
Bent on their timeless journey, never noted 
80 gross a contradiction as appears 
'Tween Troy and Carthage : — We have still persevered 
To grace our brow with Ceres' coronet, 
To rival Vulcan in our artifices. 
And to assail the vast arra}'^ of Neptune 
With thousand brazen beaks. We seek no conquest, 
But strive to bind all nations near and far 
With peaceful interchange of arts and commerce : 
And, therefore, do our watery convoj^s seek 
The farthest nooks and corners of the sea 
With untold treasures in their hollow wombs. 
Recharged with products of a distant country. 
Swift ^^olus expands their canvas wings, 



u'Eneas, 189 

Bending their course to Carthage once again, 
Our harbingers of plenty. — And for Troy: — 
E'er since the sun looked down upon her walls 
She was a nest of robbers, whose adventures 
Bore death and desolation in their tracks : 
No profitable occupation theirs, 
Theft, pillage, rapine, murder and the like 
Made up their whole existence. Such a one 
Was Priam's youngest son, deluded Paris ; 
For he had choice 'tween wisdom, law and lust. 
And chose the latter, when he stole away 
Jove's golden daughter, Menelaus' wife. 
For which offending Troy no longer lives 
Save in the songs of martial minstrelsy. 

Lys. You speak most true ; and yet, dear queen, 
remember. 
That many rumors riding on the wind 
From Troy to Carthage, led us to conclude. 
That Hector and ^neas both requested, 
Helen should be restored. 

Dido. Well, let that rest. 

I am right well resolved, that Troy and we 
Are charged with such unkindred elements 
As can not be co-mingled. This for all : 
By charter of my high authority 
I ask 3'ou to inform this unstaid Trojan, 
That Dido's realm invokes no such addition 
As might be rendered by a lawless rabble 
Of exiled vagabonds : nor can we welcome 
A prince of Priam's house. 



190 y^neas. 

^n. Look, where he stands! 

\_Guard makes motion to rush upon ^neas. 

Dido. Hold ! or you die. 

yEn. Let not my danger fright 3^011 : 

A bulwark of divinity invests me, 
Which mortals can not pierce. — I am ^neas, 
Whose fame reverberates the cerule welkin 
And echoes twixt the stars. 

Dido. Then — are you he? 

^n. By Jupiter, I swear it! And for you, 
Transcendent witchery is busy here 
So like you are my mother. Do but banish 
Proud indignation from those ruby lips, 
And melt your anger in those orbs of pit}^ 
And I will bend my iron knees before you, 
Thinking my mother had come down from heaven 
To bless her hapless son. 

Dido. No, no ; not so. 

Amazement binds our tongues within our throats, 
And clogs the flow of speech. 

Lys. By your good leave, 

Were it not meet, since we are all assembled. 
Our noble visitor disclose himself 
For why he landed here ? 

Dido. We pray you do. ^ 

^n. Ask Neptune : we approached not willingly. 
Though I am good at horse, his foaming chargers 
Have shook me from their backs. 

Dido. No more but these? 



^En. Aye, madam ; many more. If you will send 
Some little distance up the brim o' the sea, 
You'll find my beached companions strewn between 
The timbers of their barks. 

j){(Xo, This should not be. — 

Yoke me a dozen cars with sturdy mules, 
And whip them to the coast with ample stock 
Of food and raiment. [Exeunt several attendants. 

uEn. Gyas, go along, 

For you best know the way ; and tell Misenus 
To issue order that all depredation 
Is done as done 'gainst me— look to't yourself: 
If there be any flagrancy committed 
It will go hard with some. And one thing more : 
Euryalus shall come to me in haste — 
I likewise wish some conference with Misenus 
Before he goes to rest.— Should there be question 
Of my protracted absence, tell them, Gyas, 
That I am doing well. 

Gyas. My lord, I will. 

^ [Exit Gyas. 

uE)i. Pardon my rash usurped authority ; 
I am accustomed to command and rule, 
Have broke with patience, and have almost grown 
A stranger to obedience. 

Dido. You and service 

Were a most ill-matched couple. 

j^ys. Great ^neas. 

You have forgot what first we did inquire. 

^n. No, reverend sir ; not so.— By your good 
grace, 



1^2 ^^neas. 

Will I with brief imfringed speech discover 
All those occurences which tend to show 
Why I am here at Carthage. 

Enter Euryalus — converses with ^Ii^neas. 

Dido. Hark you, Anna! 

Set all my household round about at work 
To feast our stranger. Do not halt at numbers : 
My gold and credit is at your disposal 
To stretch the bounds of hospitality 
Beyond extremes. We must outblaze the sun ; 
One of the immortals walks beneath our roof — 
We'll rival his Olympus. 

[Exit Anna, notices Euryalus. 

^n. \_Aside to Eur.~\ Get thee gone, 

And bear a wary eye perchance to gather 
Some mischief lurking in this show of love. 

[Exit Euryalus, following Anna. 
Fair Queen, you know Anchises was my father, 
Descended through a line of many kings 
From cloud-compelling Jove. He now is dead. — 
On Ida's summit, where the rustling winds 
Linger in dalliance on the cedars* tops, 
There is a vale sequestered in the shade 
Of sky-ascending trees. The curious day 
With prying glances can not enter there ; 
No mortal foot hath pressed the hallowed ground 
Laid thick with velvet moss ; nor may the gods, 
Save only one, intrude. E'en here it was 



y'Eneas. 19;^ 

My goddess mother. Venus, gave me birth. — 

]My boyish days seem now a filmy dream, 

As unoffending as the laugliing l)rook 

That runs unwittingly into the sea. 

Upon the grassy slope of hill and dale 

I browsed my sheep, and mocked the lazy hours 

Upon a shepherd's pipe ; the shrillest music 

I then had ever heard — except, when Pan, 

In holiday exuberance all unwrapt. 

Trooped through the woods with his commandery 

( )f sprites and goblins and such ill-shaped truck 

As haunts a traveller in a summer night. 

And as the 3^ears went round, my mother came. 

And gave me eyes to see Diana's train 

In brook and glen. 

With man}' a sylvan charmer did I stroll 

In dear enchantment through the lonesome shades; 

And on the shore, when Neptune was asleep, 

I used to rest within a Nereid's arms, 

Beneath the spangled canopy of night, 

And watch the sea-nym])hs wind their curious 

measures. 
Stepping the yellow sands. With sylph and siren 
My years as in Elyseum passed away, 
Till sweetest repetition 'gan to cloy 
]My changing appetite. I yearned to grapple 
With tougher sinews than the yielding tlesh 
^)f love and dalliance ; top to toe in arms, 
1 longed to lock an iron enemy 
With joints of stc^*l a.»;ain-^t a forged breast. — 

—13 



194 j^neas, 

I went to Troy, where my unpruned ambition 

Lacked no employment. In the neighboring wars 

I gathered many laurels by addition 

To Priam's coffers: all the region 'round 

Delivered tribute to the crammed vaults 

Of Ilium's treasure-house. — There laj" the germ 

Of our succeeding sorrow: flushed with gold. 

In surfeit of abundance, we neglected 

All peaceful occupation, choosing rather 

To lead a life of lust and luxury 

By dint of spear and sword. Curst be the da}', 

When Alexander, steeped in arrogance, 

Pondered how he might supersede all others 

In reckless expedition. All alone 

He shipped to Sparta with the fell intent 

To steal the Jove-born wife of Menelalis, 

And coming back again to cry exultant : 

Behold, the fairest blossom of the earth 

Blooms on my bosom, — and, indeed, he did. 

But at his heels came Agamemnon's host 

In (juest of retribution : Peleus' son, 

The swift Achilles ; Ajax Telamon ; 

Idomeneus, Deucalion's son, of Crete: 

The towering Diomed, who dared assail 

The llery Mars in battle ; Nestor came, 

The silvery tongued persuader of the Greeks, 

From sandy Pjdos ; — and from Ithaca 

Our boding spirit like a lowering cloud 

Hove 'cross the water; sage Ulysses, queen, 

In wisdom like to Jove. — From morn to even. 



Mneas. 195 

The roomy entrails of a tlioiisand ships 

Discharged their bristling contents on our shore. 

For ten long years, the din and clash of arms 

Rang from the Held, and man) warlike heroes 

Went home to Orcus. What my portance there 

flight I, without extravagance or shame, 

Unboastingly promulgate, were it not. 

That idle iterance of a noble act 

Stales its performance. Yet our cause was wrong: 

We fought with Mars and Venus, while our foe 

Wielded his weapon with Athene's aid 

P"or Juno's sacred rites. — Now comes the end: 

While Dian's weary eyelid drooped in slumber, 

And every Trojan couch was hung in black, 

A trickster's cunning overcrowed our portals. 

And Ilium sank in dust. As I awoke, 

The brunt of battle shook the quaking earth 

With frightful clamor ; thundering at my gate 

Stood glittering Mars, all buckled up in brass, 

Shouting a threat of vengeance to the sky. 

We crushed the Greekish vanguard with our]^ bulks, 

And cut our way through sword and singeing fire 

To Priam's house — when lo! before my eyes 

An apparition Hermes-like appears. 

"Anchises' son" — thus Mercury began. 

For he it was, — ''why rage against the gods 

In unprevailing anger? Jove commands. 

That from the smouldering residue of Tro}' 

You gather what remains and take to ship, 

Holding thy course due west towards Italy. 



196 ^^neas. 

For there, with e^ery blemish purged away, 

Our sacred Ilium Phoenix-like shall rise 

On Tiber's bank as Home ; where bleeding Greece 

Shall crouch for mercy at thy children's feet." 

AVitli this, the spirit seemed to soar away 

On unsubstantial air.— In eager haste 

I summoned all my friends and followers ; 

My household gods and what so else was dear, 

I carried on my shoulders from the wreck 

Of burning Troy. — Our hawsers cut away, 

The tumbling billows and the inconstant wind 

Summed up our hope. — Now might I speak, O queen^ 

Of passing strange adventures, hairbreadth 'scapes 

15y water and by land ; of Neptune's wrath. 

Of wily Proteus' and of Circe's drug; 

Of our retention in the Cyclops' cave. 

Where one-eyed Polyphemus gorged himself 

With m}^ companion's flesh ; of Scylla's rage, 

Who pounced upon us, dragging from our decks 

A sixfold sacrifice ; and of Charybdis, 

The seething whirlpool spouting up from hell. 

And I might speak of shipwreck and delay. 

Of thirst and of starvation, and the pangs 

Of rupture with oneself — but not so now. 

Let it sutiice, fair queen, that yesternight 

The blasts of Boreas dashed our creaking bottoms 

On Carthaginian soil. 

Dido. For this, our thanks. 

You shall remain our welcome guest in Carthage 



Apneas. 197 

Until the zepl^vrs of a new-born s[)ring 

Breathe from the south, and kiss 3'oiir navy's wings 

With lips of eglantine. 

Lys. And for larbas? 

^^n. A Trojan answer may suttice for him. 

{Exeunt. 



ACT II. 



SCENE 1. — A Street i\ Caktha^e — Night. 
'Enter tivo Carthaginian Sailors. 

1 Sail. Come on, come on, the Pleiades are out, 
And we should he aboard. 

2 Sail. Why haste you so? 
The night is dark, and many of our flock 

Are straggling far behind. 

1 Sad. The worse for them. 
See, how the winged horsemen of the air 
Chase one another o'er the houses' tops. 

The swelling wind blows stiffly from the south, 
And our commander will not brook dela}' 
When wiud and weather show a friendly mood. 

2 Sail. Give me your hand, for my declining years 
Press me to be remembered. So, so, so. 



1 98 y^neas, 

A willing spirit in a feeble body 

Augments the hardship of an old man's fate. 



Enter JVIisenus and Gyas. 

1 Sail. Some one approaches : step aside awhile. 
Stand there ! 

Mis. Who may you be? 

1 Sail. Of Carthage, sir. 

Gyas. And we of Troy. 

1 Sail. Most welcome are j^ou then : 

For by the proclamation of our (jueen 
Each Trojan is our brother. — Fare you well, 
We must to ship. 

Mis. What, in the dead of night? 

7 Sail. Why not? oh. I perceive. Your sailorship 
Is somewhat crnde in Troy ; for I have heard 
You can not swim there but in Phcebus' eye : 
And then, no further from the muddy shore 
Than seaman's eye can see. But in PlKiemcia, 
Our deep magicians and astrologers 
Did ferret out the secret of the stars 
With mystic computation, and device 
As intricate as strange. What seems to you 
A glittering host of shifting accidents, 
Appears unto our pilots as a state 
Of organized condition, 3nelding them 
Direction, time and i)lace. — Do you observe 
Y^on little sparkle in the northern sky 



jEneas. 199 

Where Diaivs jewels are more thinly set 
Tlian either here or tliere? 

Mis, Aye, what of that? 

1 Sail. Of all the untold myriad scintillations 
This one alone unshaken holds his place 
From age to age ; while all the other fires 
l^raw their diurnal circles round about 
This centered pole, varying with rise and set 
The season's difference. So conddingly 
Our mariners behold these constellations, 
That we seafaring men conduct our vessels 
Directly from the shore, where danger lurks 
In shoals and shallows and in hidden rocks. 
Across the wide dominion of the wave 
We sail in due direction, guided only 
By heaven's arithmetic. — So fare you well. 

Mis. Stay; whither are you ])ound? 

1 Sail. For Spain, goodlsir. 

I iiuist not tarry longer.— Come away. lExeunt Sail< ujs. 

Gf/as. A prattling knave. 

}/is. Whose every word was l>orit 

Of firm eonvicticni. Let me tell you, Gyas, 
Though we are wise, there may be something yet 
Uncatalogued in our experience 
Which these Phcenicians are apprised of. 

Gyas. A dream without a lucid interval. 

Mis. It merits much reflection. 

Gjjas. Let us in. 

{^E.vemit, 



200 yEneas. 

SCENP] II. — A Chamber in Dido's Palace. 
Dido. Enter Bakce. 

Barce. What, child ; ah-eady stirrin|j^. Good my 
days, 
When my exhausted blood was fresh as yours 
These were the very hours I loved to lie 
In drowsy Morpheus' arms. Alas, alas, 
That soothing sleep should be an enemy 
To waning years ! now do I ever hear 
The midnight greetings of the chanticleer 
From barn to barn. What is \he matter, lad}'^? 
Pray, let me know oft. 

Dido. , Nothing, nothing, Barce. 

Barce. I'll lay my life, some scheme of black larbas 
Defeats your quiet. Fear him, fear him, lady. 
He looks upon us with an eye of einy. 
For that you did acquire this spacious kingdom 
For what he held a jest. 

Dido. Where's Anna, Barce? 

Barce. I'll call her. [Exit. 

Dido. Do so. Yesterday-, larbas. 

You were only darkness in the heaven ; 
But now, methinks, there brews a mightier storm. 
Oh folly, folly; 'tis the moment's flurry 
That starts his image in my vacant bosom, 
And nothing more. And yet, since first I saw him, 
The semblance of this god-descended man 
Consumes the pith and marrow of my being 
Beyond endurance. 



yEneaii. 201 

Enter Ay,^ A. 

Anna. You are up betimes — 

Good morrow sister — and 'tis well you are: 
Our Trojan guests outstrip tlie earliest lark, 
And walk about our hospitable streets. 
A merrj^-making throng. E'en great ^Eneas 
Hath shaken 8luml)er from his storm-tossed lim])S, 
And gazes on our shipyard's busy bustle. 
Admiring all he sees. 

Dido. What think you of him? 

Anna. Not more than you, P^lisa; yet enough. — 
Do not attempt to play the juggler with me, 
For your dissembling garments are too narrow 
To drape so big a secret. 

Dido. How now, how ! 

What secret can there be 'tween you and me? 

Anna. Oh, is it so? I'll tell j^ou — three small 
words 
And we are one again — you love TEneas. 

Dido. Hush! breathe it low. The music of ni}^ 
passion 
Falls unaccustomed on my timid ear. 
How came you known on't? Speak ; for I was prudent 
'With bare considerance of it. 

Anna. Every motion 

Proclaims a transformation, and the culprit 
Jumps out at every inch. Had I neglected 
To mark your angry artifice 'gainst Tro}" 
When his api)roach was mentioned; had 1 winked 



202 ^^neas. 

When with a primal glance he made a conquest 

Ere yet he spoke ; or, had I been asleep 

While like a conjurer he cast a spell 

With piteous story on your eye and ear, — 

The very night would have revealed your love : 

For when the din and clamor of the day 

Had faded in the soothing hours of night, 

And every weary mortal laid him down 

To gather respite in the vale of sleep — 

You tossed from side to side ; in your wild bosom 

There was nor peace nor rest; and on your feature? 

The clouds of anguish and the beams of joy 

Compelled each other like an April day ; 

While from your lips iEneas name broke forth, 

Now w'reathed in smiles, now clad in bitter tears. 

Dido. Oh, speak no more: but be my counselor 
In this al)rupt infection ; guide m^^ steps. 
For my discernment falters in the jostle 
Of opposite extremes. 

Anna. 15e comforted. 

If you do love the hero, and regard him 
A worthy consort, is it very like 
That I)id(/s charms will prove a losing weapon 
'Gainst Venus' son? 

Dido. Grant me assistance, heaven ! 

And you, the ministers of grace and beaut}. 
Pity my hard condition, and rain down 
Such rare effulgence on Elisa's frame, 
As once you lavished on the Olympian queen 
When she bewildered Jove on Ida's top. 



^neas. 203 

Aiwia, The day invites our coming, let us walix. 

I)U\o. Wliy should I blush? Am I not queen in 
Carthage ? 
And may I not indulge in that election 
Which every simple subject claims his own? 
No: banish secrecy ! my quick devotion 
Shall soar upon the wings of .Eolus 
E'en to the crooks and corners of the world 
Where chaos breeds. 

Anna. TEneas' reputation 

Need suffer no abridgment in the jointure 
Witli such a one as 3''0u. 

Dido. ^ly courage grows. 

Anna. In all the number of the visiting kings 
That sojourned at our court, there was not one 
But had rejoiced to barter half his kingdom 
For what iEneas wins with asking for't. 

Dido. Soft, soft ; some one approaches. 

Anna. Come. 

Dido. 'Tishel 

I have not heard that footfall twenty hours. 
And know the gait already. Leave me, Anna: 
Delays are dangerous when the time is ripe. 

\_Exit Anna. 

Enter TEneas. 

^■En, What, all alone? 

Dido. Not so ; or else ^5?:neas 

Contemplates only for his friends' advancement 
And so forgets himself. 



204 y^neas. 

^n. Could 1 do better 

Than tax my memory with the sea of kindness 
I stand your debtor for ? 

Dido, 'Tis freely given. 

And you deserve no less. Pra}^ let that pass. — 
You slept not well last night ; I have been told, 
You wandered from our gardens to the shore 
Before the sun had risen, 

u^n. Very true : 

A soldier never tarries in his bed 
Till Ph(jebus pricks him out. Believe me, Dido, 
No sweeter rest was mine in Priam's hails 
Than in the chamber where you bade me sleep. 
Scarce had I pressed the pillows of my couch, 
When Philomel began with plaintive voice 
To sing her love-lorn music, and my spirit 
Sank into calm repose. And ni}^ poor thanks 
Is all that I can render for this bounty, 
Crescended and enriched when I behold 
The beautiful dispenser. 

Dido. Tut, ^^neas. 

How can you call me fair, when you divided 
The friendship and society of Helen 
For ten long years? Come, sit 3^ou down hy me, 
And speak of Paris' treasure. Truly now, 
Or I will chide you : naught extenuate, 
Nor aught dispraise. Is she as tall as I? 

^n. Aye, somewhat taller; she could hardly 
walk 
'Neath my extended arm. 



u^neas. 205 

Dido. Indeed, nor I. 

^■En. You stand on tii)-toe now ; but 'tis no 
matter : 
Her grace was loftier, while your constellation 
Heveals a sweet perfection more completed 
Than Helen's lithesome beauty. In the balance 
You'd prove as true as she. 

Dido. Her hair was yellow ? 

^■En. Like j^ours, a flush of Phrobus. 

Dido. And her voice? 

^■En. Pleadino- and soft ; the whispering summer air 
Breathed not as low : To hear was to obey. 

Dido. Her eyes were blue or gray? 

^^n. I can not tell : 

In her reflective orbits lived a sparkle, 
A witchery of mischief, like i6 that 
Now flashes in your own. 

Dido. If you can read 

My spirit's meditation in my eyes, 
1)0 so, for they are honest. Y'ou shall gaze 
Into the windows of my secret soul, 
And tell me what you see. 

^En. I hail from Troy, 

Where your Ph(L^nician characters are strange : 
But in your liquid eloquence, O queen, 
I read a story which the gracious gods 
Write in the universal tongue of man. — 
Why shake you so? Weep not, divine Elisa ; 
For while you rest upon iEneas' bosom 
All mortal danger steals in fear away. 



2o6 2Eneas. 

Come, raise your drooping petals to your sun, 
Sweet-scented tlower, he will kiss these tears, 
Bright twin-set diamonds, from a cr3^stal throne 
Whose proper king is laughter. 

Dido. Ye gods, what have I done! Oh, pitiful, 
That woman's weaker nature can not master 
The motion of their hearts ! Do not despise me. 
This burst of passion will away again. 
If you will have it so. 

^n. Prevent it, heaven ! 

I love you. Dido. 

Dido. Speak it once again; 

I do not understand you. 

^n. Sweet Elisa, 

^neas loves you. 

Dido. Then the rest goes even. 

u:En. And from the first I did anticipate — 
E'en while you frowned upon Anchises' son — 
That all the subtle mysteries of Eros 
Passed current 'twixt our hearts. That very hour 
I lacked and loved you, too: — nay, more than that, 
I knew as much of you. 

Dido. Psh ! 

'Enter a Mp:8sengeh. 

Your commission? 
Mess. Of great import : larbas' embassy, 
Impatient for an answer, takes to horse, 
And will not be persuaded to remain ; 



^^ncas. 207 

Tln'V now persist, 3^011 drew this iiero hither, 
That from his giiardage you might safely render 
An unpropitious answer. 

Dido. Bid them stay 

IJiit till tu-morrow morning. I may choose — 
Well, I may choose — 

^^n. No! tell these marriage-mongers 

To press their horses' bellies to the ground 
And post them like the wind — 

Dido. 1 do beseech 3'ou. 

^En. For it I lind them when Apollo's wheel 
Tips on the pinnacle of the da3^'s travel, 
I'll bring them on the way. 
, Dido. Who governs here? 

'Tis I who rule in Carthage. 

^Ea. But not now. 

Send Gyas hither. \_Exit messenger. 

By the fate of Troy, 
Now that I think of it, m3^ jealous honor 
Be":ins to tingle with a sense- of shame. 

Dido. Oh, vou have dashed the vengeance of larbas 
Upon my weeping cit3M he will come 
With m3Tiad trooping warriors at his heels. 

^n. Let him approach ; for as he nuiltiplies, 
Our victory increases. Fear you nothing. 
Though he appear like the unnumbered stars, 
We'll pluck the riders from their nimble steeds. 
And brush them from us like a swarm of Hies 
TMiat pester us in summer. 



2o8 j^neas. 

Ejiter Gyas. 

Welcome, Gyas: 
I have a piece of trusty business for you, 
As full of fear as honor. 

Gyaa. Good ni}^ lord, 

My inclination yearns for that employment 
Where skill miglit battle danger. You did send me. 
While yet the Greek Achilles nursed his wrath, 
Into the heart of Agamemnon's council. 
And I returned with that you sent me for. 

u-En. I well remember it ; and since I know 
How 3^ou would choose between immortal death 
And lengthy daj^s drawn out in ignominy, 
Make you such preparations as befit 
And seek this same Numidian you have heard of— 
larbas is his name — 

Dido. And this for me? 

Gyas. No, madam ; for m3^self. 

uEn. Expound to hini^ 

That our beloved queen can never choose 
To be the consort of a dusky ranger; 
Nor can she strain her fine imagination 
To that exalted pitch as would persuade her. 
That in the rugged caves of barbarism 
The scorching elements of sand and fire 
Had bred a man of such comi^lete dimension^ 
Whose unexpressive merit would requite her 
'i'o hang these jewels on the swarthy limbs 
Of his vile-perfumed trunk. 



y^neas, 209 

Gyas. I'll do it, sir. 

And while I journey thither, find a time 
To shape an argument so void of flaw, 
That he himself shall thank me for my service. 
And hold me as a friend that raised a shield 
Between himself and death. 

Dido. This will not fadge : 

O gentle sirs, believe rae, you misjudge 
The reckless humor of this desert child. 
Whose honor, wounded in his messengers, 
Brooks no persuasion. 

^'En. If he bristle up, 

As well he may (and if it be his choice. 
Why, he is welcome to't), tell him but this: 
Within the sacred circle of these walls 
A piece of Troy inhabits. 

Gyas. My weak physic 

Must cure larbas ; for he hath no stomach 
For your prescription. P^'are you well at once. 

\_Exit Gyas. 

Dido. Since you are wise and mighty, I will banish 
These boding dangers, and from this will be 
Your minister of pleasure : all my fortune, 
As boundless as the gold of Mercury, 
Shall call you master ; and whatever else 
Of Dido's charms the world calls beautiful, 
Take it, for all is yours. 

yEn. Ye mighty gods, 

Is this your pleasure or your punishment! 

—14 



2IO ^neas. 

If from the confines of all-judging Jove 
You lead this burning goddess to my arms 
To tempt me from my pre-ordained path, 
I bow to your temptation — be it so. 
Close, closer yet ; now, flinty basilisk. 
Strike us to stone, to be forever thus ! 
I have drunk fire from your quivering lips. 
Olympus, thou art poor! By dreadful Styx, 
Not all the vasty stretch of your dominion 
Contains another morsel like to this! 

Dido. Let me but breathe a little. O ^neas, 
My sides are overcharged with energy- 
Panting for breath. — Come, let us in the air. 
I have two steeds of Atalantean stock, 
More swifter than the wind, one white, one black, 
Whose virgin flanks have never known a spur: 
These we'll caparison, and like a flash 
Lighten along the margin of the main. 
Skim over field and stubble, work our way 
Through stubborn brake and tangled wilderness 
To vent the bounding elements of motion 
That riot here within. 

^71. Sweet Amazon, 

The spicy vapor of your ecstasj- 
Shrouds all the past and future from my eyes. 
Joys like to this are worth eternity ; 
Eternity, the fair prophetic vision. 
That shows us all and yields us but to-day. 
Our y esters drift upon the waves of Lethe 
Irrevocably from our beckoning sight, 



y^neas, 21 1 

And our to-morrows in this liclvle phase 
May never come to pass. 

Dido. I'll teach you how. 

From every altar there shall rise to heaven 
A cloud of incense and of sacrifice, 
An invocation to the gods of mirth ; 
For jocund Bacchus and the blindfold boj' 
Shall reign supreme at Dido's festival. 

JEn. Jove and his frigid counsel now must rest, 
For all my mother rules within this breast. 

\Exennt, 

SCENE III. — A Street in Carthage. 

Enter Gyas. 

Gijas. iEneas, you will never see me more. 
The while you revel in the rich delights 
Of Dido's passion (queen of luxury, 
Who would not wish to be thy paramour) 
Will I spin out my own advantages. 
Now, let me see : larbas dotes on Dido, 
And I, on fame ; if he do furnish me, 
I will procure for him, — but how, how, how? 
iEneas' appetite will choke and surfeit 
Before three moons are wasted, and his conscience 
Begin to prick him with a just remorse: 
For liowsoever he is Venus' son, 
His primal cause will ever urge him on 
Towards Tiber's banks. — iEneas being gone, 



212 j^neas. 

It were an easy trick to take the town 

With hundred horse ; then will I bring him Dido, 

And he must make me king of Carthage for't. 

The rabble may rebel ; yet have I noted, 

That whosoever crams the herd with bread 

May sway their rule. The wavering multitude 

Lacks order and degree, lolls, shifts about 

Like some huge cloud, whicli every straggling breeze 

Bends to and fro at pleasure. — I'll prevail 

Upon larbas to desist at present, 

And after prove that he attained his end 

Alone by my contrivance : — That's the way. 

Success is not inherited alone 

By strength and power ; Peleus' giant son 

Could slay brave Hector, yet himself was slain 

Without achieving what that mightier man, 

Ulysses, did achieve, who sacked our town, 

Went home to Ithaca and wears a crown. \Kxit. 



ACT III. 



SCENE I. — A Street in Carthage. 

MiSENUS. 

Mis. The self same plague that rotted Ilium's wall 
Now breeds in Carthage. Damned luxury, 
Why wilt thou blast the one remaining sprout 



^neas, 213 

That gave us hope of harvest! Pitiful, 

Til at Hector and his martial galaxy 

Are draped in darkness, and his heirs in honor 

Let all advantage slip and profit nothing — 

No, not a jot. Else would iEneas here 

Unyoke the precious legacy of Priam 

In wine and women? — I will seek him out, 

(Albeit he abjures my company) 

And wrangle with him, though he shake me for't. 

Enter Lysander. 

Ljis. Good even, grave Misenus. Make thee 
haste, 
Our never ending banquet swells at flood. 
And all the amorous vouth of Trov and Carthage 
Swim in a sea of revels. Dido's palace 
Resounds with bacchanalian merriment, 
While in the dusk}- halo of the moon 
The god of love receives his votaries 
In sweet seclusion. — You are troubled sir; 
Or else annoyed at our festivities. 

Mis. Aye, more : they stick me to the very heart. 

Ljjs. Can it be possible that I have found 
Within the girdle of our frenzied city 
One reasoning man? 

Mis. You'll find in me a man 

Not over wondrous wise, 3-et one who sees 
What hapless consummation must arise 
From these wild staggers. 



214 



y^neas. 



Lys. Speak you from the heart? 

Mis. Aye, as I am a Trojan. 

Lys. Take my hand, 

And let ns whet our rusty intellects 
Against a siege of senses. 

Mis, Thrive in this, 

And you have earned my everlasting thanks. 
The queen's to blame, Lysander: look you now, 
She hangs upon his neck at night and noon, 
And bars me, who am next to him in rank. 
So much as any minute's consultation 
With our commander. She is quick and shrewd ; 
Haply she knows my mind. And for 7F>neas, 
The potent exhalation of her passion 
Quite masters him. 

Lys. A piteous change, Misenus. 

Would you had seen her ere ^neas came : 
How wise, how just, how merciful she was 
In all contentious matter. Her decrees 
Were blended so with affabilit}^, 
As made the vanquished victor. 

Mis. First of all, 

We must essay to shake ^^^]neas u^) 
And make him take to sea. 

Lys. Meanwhile will I 

Speak to the queen, and draw comparison 
Between the past arid present. 

Mis. Tell her, too, 

j^i^neas madness knows no constancy. 



^^neas. 215 

liiit like a sickly humor of the palate 
Is quickly sated. 

Lys. I'll confer with her ; 

Do you but find an opportunity 
To stay .lEneas, and bring home to him, 
How lapsed in dull delirium he foregoes 
The proud anticipation of his race. 

Mis. If my ability but half eke out 
The sum of my intention, all is well. 

Lys. Here comes the v^eriest butterfly of Troy. 

Enter Euryalus. 

Mis. What, ho, Eur^^alus! why haste you so? 

Eur. Good even, gentle sirs, a thousand pardons 
For thus omitting you. — But come along. 
The shrill alarums of the braying trump 
Command obedience to the queen's behest. 

Mis. There was a time when I did point you out, 
A brave example to the rising man ; 
For in ni}'^ mind's conclusion, you were dowered 
With ampler wisdom than your narrow years 
Could give us warranty. 

Eur. Tut, tut, IMisenus, 

Do not deject me with your melancholy ; 
We'll find a time for that in after days. 
When stooping underneath the yoke of Mars 
VV^e sweat to reach imaginary })lessing. 
For ten long years we labored in the Held 
In iron harness, and without regard 



21 6 u^neas. 

Of season, day or night ; in heat and cold, 
Through weather foul and fair, we battled fiercely 
Against the Greekish host : and do you now 
Begrudge'a soldier's fortune so much booty 
As may be captured from a laughing girl? 

Mis. Has all your fine ambition shrunk to this? 

Eur. Your music is too solemn for our song . 
-(Eneas strikes the tune, and I, his ancient, 
Join boldly in the chorus. — Yesternight 
Out-blazoned every possibility 
Of wild extravagance. No minstrel's art, 
No, -not Apollo and the sistered nine 
Could frame a phantasy of such delight. 
And thus it was : ^neas and the queen 
Fell into altercation with the praise 
Of woman's excellence ; for he persisted, 
The dames of Troy outrivalled those of Carthage 
In physical perfection. She denied it. 
And wishing to support her argument 
With props of proof, dispatched her invitation 
To all the comely women of the court 
(None other had accepted for their lives) 
To entertain iEneas and his fellows 
In such apparel aS the queen of love 
Wears in Olympus. Which temptation came 
Like drink to Tantalus: for let me tell you. 
The world may rot, but favor still will find 
Occasion to uncover. — This I speak of 
Was yesterday': and in the middleiiight. 
Within the guarded chambers of the [)alace. 



^neas. 217 

Gathered the paragons of Dido's realm, 

Arrayed in i)earl and gold. You should have seen 

them : 
A wilderness of breathing statuary, 
That danced and dallied to the drowsy rhythm 
Of melting music. So we sang and feasted, 
Till Cupid's candle fanned with Bacchus' wing 
'Gan to illume a world of charity 
In every dusky eye. O'erlooking all, 
Queen Dido and ^Eneas pressed a throne 
Like Mars and Cytherea ; she recHning 
Her jeweled body on his bulwark breast, 
Where her untrammelled beauty seemed to ask him : 
••Is not m.y constellation rich as Troy?" 
Flushed with her armorous glances, and inspired 
With Candean wine, ^neas rises high 
And drains his brimming mazer time and oft 
To Dido's health, and with stentorian voice 
Recounts the famous battles he had won 
'Gainst Greekish kings. Thus many a valiant prince 
Was sent a second time to Pluto's home 
By eloquent iKneas. Which to hear, 
Would every 3'oung ambition lift his head 
From tender pillow, and applaud his deeds 
With clamorous approbation. — But, I see. 
My story likes you not, so fare you well. — 
Hereafter, when our working days draw on, 
P^uryalus will clap his goodly trunk 
In tougher garments than these weeds of play. 

{Exit. 



2i8 ySneas, 

* 

Mis. Eneas' counterfeit. 

Lys. To-morrow morning^ 

Seek you the general. I must leave you now 
To meditate how easiest I may act 
My hard commission, \_Exit. 

Ente7' CoKiNTHus and other Trojans. 

Cor. Stoop, stoop, you rogue! 

There's one approaching. 

2 Tro. I should say there was : 

One, two, three, four, five, six ; you're drunk to-night, 
And see but one in six. 

Mis. Stand there ! 

Cor. Misenus. 

A plague upon your stupid villainy. 

Mis. What do j-ou here? 

Cor. Oh, nothing much, good sir : 

We eat, and drink, and sleep, and came this way 
To see our worthy betters do the like. 

Mis. Hence, to your beds, you minions of the night,. 
And doze your liquor off ! Are you the men 
P'rom whom our expedition hoped to gain 
A bountiful addition ? Are you those 
Whom our commander in his roomy ships 
Preserved from Pyrrhus' sword — for which compassion 
You render him such disobedience? 
Or, do you haply think a soldier's honor, 
A Trojan soldier's honor, will augment 
With breach of discipline? Oh, shame upon you! 



y^neas. 219 

Run to your lodge, refresh your tottering limbs 

In needful sleep, that with the earhest lark 

You rise in fit condition to engage 

With horse and lance. ^Exeunt Trojans. 

Our enterprise is sick 
From tip to toe. [Exit. 

SCENE II.— In the Palace Garden. 

Enter Euryalus and Anna. 

Eur. Yes, yes, I understand : but, dearest Ann^ 
1 know ^Eneas better. 

Ann. Truly, now, 

I've seen him, too. 

Eur. Yon rustic summerhouse 

Invites repose. See, how the gnarled vines 
Are dressed with creeping flowers: here we'll sit 
Unstartled by the boisterous merriment 
That reels about us. 

Ann. Did you ever see 

A man so hungry for a woman's love 
As he is for Pihsa's? 

Eur. There's the point : 

Where passion burns with such unsated fury 
'Twill die for lack of fuel. 

Ann. Do you think 

^neas will forsake her ? 

Eur. For the world 

I would not say so ; yet I know him well. 



2 20 yEneas, 

A mighty spirit rules within his soul 
Yearning for Italy, which some one day 
Will rouse him from a sleepy lethargy 
To desperate action ; and this temporal lapse 
May jump him into guilty opposites. 
Let us prepare for either. — I have wrung 
A sweet confession from you, have I not? 
You swore you loved me dearly. 

Ann. So I do, 

And will forever. 

Eur. Make me promise, child, 

That howsoever doubtful my career — 
As I am bound in fortune to ^neas — 
You'll bide by me in spite of circumstance. 

Ann. Take me, Euryalus, and I will try 
To prove a soldier's consort. 

Eur. You were born 

To be a hero's wife. — But look you, love, 
The queen of night peeps over yonder hill 
Flooding the foliage with her silver fire. 
In such a time, Leander doffed his armor 
And plunged him in the heaving Hellespont 
To seize the joy of Hero's dimpled arms, 
Who stood with gleaming torch on Sestos' hill. 

Ann. And so it was, when Cynthia slipped from 
heaven 
In quest of love, and all affrighted ran 
Full many a league until she found her lover. 
Her boy, Endymion, couched in rosy sleep. 



^-Eneas. 221 

There stooi)e(l she low, and on his downy lip 
Unlaced the passion of her latent fire. 

Eur. In such an hour, Achilles girt his loins 
With gold and purple, and by Venus' hand 
"Walked into Helen's chamber ; who received 
This king of kings with such regardless welcome, 
As made his entertainment rich reward 
For all his years of battle. 

Ann. So it was, 

When Tyro bathing in the limpid waves 
Of pebble-banked Enipeus, roused the love 
Of deep Poseidon, who enticed the maiden 
With stilly murmurs to his big embrace. 

Eur. In such a night did even Jove forget, 
And sail from heaven into Leda's lap 
In semblance of a swan. 

Ann. We, too, forget: 

The matin wakes upon the hallowed night, 
And pales her twinkling tapers one by one. 

Eur. Let us within, and may you ever be 
Resolved to follow us across the sea. [Exeunt. 

SCENE III.— A Room in the Palace. 

Enter ^I^neas. 

uEn. Apollo's oracle foretold me once, 
That Greece united would be more than matcn 
For singled Troy. And so it was. 



222 y^neas. 

Enter Misenus. 

Mis. Good morrow ! 

^n. Her strength was union : which of all her 
kings 
Alone had wiped us out? The}* came as one, 
And Agamemnon's arm struck down our walls 
With twent}^ kingly swords. 

Mis. I beg your pardon 

For this abrupt intrusion — 

^En. Is it like, 

The brittle spirit of the touch}^ Greek 
Will bend in peace for any length of time 
To Agamemnon's will? I doubt it much. 
Peleides rebelled ere he raised his sword. 
And Ajax, fiery son of Telamon, 
As late I am informed, dashed out his brains 
Because Ulysses wears Achilles' arms. 

Mis. Misenus would a word or two with 3'ou. 

^n. If this might be prevented — 

Mis. So it might, 

If you delay not. 

^n. Didst thou speak to me? 

Mis. Aye, worthy general ; your persuasive 
tongue 
Oan quell dissension ere it grows to seed. 

^n. Indeed! you think me wiser than I am. — 
How many fine exertions chafe to death 
In idle opposition. Let me see, — 
I had it even now. If we could turn 
The single stream of every great man's mind 



^neas, 223 

Into one common channel, and make proof 
That private welfare flows from general good, 
Then might we fashion wonders, rear a frame 
That would expand with every hero's birth : 
A state Uke man himself, whose every member 
Doth recognize his own in others' right ; — 
Where one is nothing, and where one is all 
Supported by the rest. This arm cut off, 
It rots like carrion flesh, — 

Enter Messenger. 

Mess. Good morrow, sir ; 

(.^iieen Dido stays your coming. 

^n. So she does ; 

I am to blame for ray forgetfulness. \_Emt. 

Jlis. Sirrah, what sport? 

Mess. They hunt a boar, my lord. 

Your leave. I must attend them. 

\^ExU. 

Mis. Hold, ^neas ! 

Look back and blush ! Upon the field of war 
You stretched in fall equipment 'mongst the dead 
To spy for vantage in the Greek defense. 
Y^our pillow was a blood and rain washed soil, 
Y(nir drapery the bleak rheumatic night 
Thick with unwholesome vapor ; and your arms 
JCm braced the reeking carcass of a foe 
Like l)ride and groom ; whereto the carrion crows 
Like lilthy shadows hovered o'er the field 



224 ^ncas. 

To feast on princes. Then yonr dauntless eye 

Did not so much as wink ; your forged limbs 

Were proof against the baleful elements 

That propagate diseases; Neptune's choler. 

Athene's artifice, and Juno's wrath 

Dashed unprevailing on your charmed front r 

And now, these fresh dimensions droop and wilt 

Before a gipsy's breath! — All-guiding Jove, 

If in the wise provision of your will 

You purpose further than to make this man 

A butt and target for the wrangling spleen 

Of gods and men, — send down from heaven's hill 

Your sandaled Mercury, or speak to him, 

Whose ears are sealed 'gainst mortal argument^ 

With peals of shaking thunder. 

[^Exit. 

SCENE IV.— A Forest. 

^n. Stay you within, Elisa ; for I see 
The tumbling dolphins of the upper main 
Coiling their huge backs to a lowering bulk. — • 
How dull and heav}^ is the silent air, 
Save when a sullen gust of fitful wdnd 
Sweeps through the hollow caverns of the earth, 
And straight is hushed again. The yellow leaves. 
Circle affrighted from their lofty perch ; 
The timorous burghers of this ancient wood 



JEneas, 225 

Creep into shelter ; and the fowls of heaven 
With nois}^ accent tack their feathery sails 
Predicting storm. Such weird expectancy 
Might startle conscience in a guilty soul. — 
But what is this to me ? Distempered nature 
Instils the ignorant with oppressive fear, 
While wiser men behold the angry tempest 
With wonder and amazement, nothing more. — 
Howl on, ye lusty whirlwinds! What, for shame! 
Pluck out the primal forest by the roots, 
And plant it on the moon ! Ye pelting clouds, 
Pile watery mountains on the dusty earth 
()l3'mpus high, and make our drowned streets 
A maze for Neptune's tribe! Shout once again. 
Ye deafening thunders ! bellow, till 3 ou wake 
PJarth-shaking Seismos ! Let the buried god 
Gripe Rhea's stomach till she quake with pain, 
And spills the slimy monsters of the deep 
Upon our fruitful fields, and makes our homes, 
Our temples, and our brazen armaments 
'roi)ple into the billows of the sea. — 
Strike, strike, 3'e bolts of lightning! split our earth 
Into ten thousand pieces! Join your arms, 
Disrupting elements ! drench, burn and pound 
Our glorious world into the steaming wrack 
That chaos looked upon. 

Hermes appears. 

Hermes. Dissembling man, 

Why do you seek to calm your troubled soul 

—15 



226 j^neas. 

With boisterous exclamation":' I am sent 

By him who shapes the destiny of men 

To brine- these summons — Usten and obey: 

To-morrow, ere Apollo lift his eye 

Above the level of the shinhig sea, 

You must to ship and sail for Italy. 

This dalliance with the love- sick queen of Carthage 

Merits most high rebuke ; which to atone, 

The remnant of your days shall lack the blessing 

Of woman's love. Jove's wisdom doth decree 

To cure the greater evil with the less. — 

There lies yowx way. [^Exit. 

^n. For Italy! 'Tis well. 

I am resolved : my theme is Italy ! 

Enter Dido. 

1)1 lo. ^Eneas, wait a minute ; I'll along. 

^Eti. Wh}^ plunge another weapon in this corpse, 
Relentless gods! Ye might have spared me this. — 
Sweet rose of Carthage, what will 'come of thee! 

Dido. See, I am dry and merry : not a drop 
Of heaven's sorrow reached me. Let us in, 
And change your garments. Here's my cloak, Tl^^neas ; 
'Tis soft and warm ; — na)^, let me do my office. 
These colors are becoming — what's the matter? 

^n. A Hash of lightning struck me even now. 

Dido. You fright me, where? 

^n. Pity me not, Elisa ; 

Your anxious eyes augment the wasting fires 
That fate has kindled here. \_Exeunt. 



y£neas. 227 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I. — K Room in Lysander's House. 

Lysander. 

* 

Lys. Another season of such husbandry 
Will bankrupt Carthage. What a prodigal 
Our one time thrifty Dido grows to be. 

Enter iExEAs. 

A rare but welcome visit ; pra}- you sit. 

^^n. Lysander, when I yet was green in Carthage. 
You gave me promise to assist me hence 
When it so pleased me. 

i//s- Very like I did : 

And what I promise I am wont to keep. — 
But 3^ou are jesting: what would Dido say 
To 3^our departure. — Pardon me, yEneas, 
J>ut undisputed rumors give it out 
You had resolved to stay; and all appearance 
Led us to think so, too. 

^'En. Yourself included ? 

Lys. You gave no cause for thinking otherwise. 



228 u^neas, 

^■En. Be not deceived with thinking: Look, 
Lysander, 
I am right well aware, my reputation 
Crrows dull and tarnished in the fair opinion 
Of many wise and proper lookers-on, 
Among the which, Lysander, you are one: — 
But my repentance shall regild my honor, 
And raise me to that jealous seat again 
Where once I sat. — The brief of all is this: 
I go to-night. If you'll assist me, well ; 
If not, I'll ship without. 

Lys. The time is short, 

uEn. So much the better: I am well resolved: 
And twixt convincement and the hour of action 
yKneas knows no difference. 

Lys. Let me see — 

How many ships? 

^En. I can not tell, Lysander: 

Perchance a goodly number of my friends 
May choose to stay behind ; and then, again, 
There may be some adventurous stuff in Carthage 
Will range along. 

Lys. Is Dido one in this? 

^n. ^'Ot yet. 

Lys. 'Tis well ; if it should please her not, 

She'll get prevention. — Still, I have no fear: 
She bears a circumspect and prudent mind, 
Whose judgment needs must tell her, it were best 
For Troy, for Carthage, for herself and you, 
To strangle any friendship that might seem 



yEncas, 229 

To tend into affection. Though she loved you 
Bej'ond example, you could never wed her: 
For she, as queen, as ruler of her country. 
Foregoes the sweetness of dependency, 
Which teaches women to obey their iiusbands. 
T^o shape their softer natures to his humors, 
And cling to him in favor and in fear. 
No matter where. Queen Dido's lofty state 
Makes her a paradox ; and, as for you, 
One so intent to dwell in Italy 
Can not be king in Carthage. 

^l<2n. Let us then 

Make hasty preparation ; — It were well 
To bring the vessels of our expedition 
Some distance from the town, and thus avoid 
A curious multitude whose wagging tongue 
Might else commit us. All things being yare, 
Misenus shall collect our scattered kinsmen 
Close by the ships : when twilight winks in heaven, 
I'll speak to them, and charge each craven heart 
With bounding valor. Fare you well till then. 

/>//.s. But one thing more, yEneas : shall I broach 
Your parting to the queen? 

^^2n. I pray you do. — 

But not directly: see, you sound her tirst 
To know how she will take it. If she weaken, 
Tell iier you speak of possibilities, 
And interlard your wary exposition 
With ample ifs ; but, should you find her firm, 
Tlien lay foundation with a skillful tongue, 



230 ^neas. 

Upon whose basis I may later on 

Build many reasons, and my last adieu, 

Lys. Aye, truly — 

^^n. Well, what is it? 

L]js. Good my lord, 

Hemember she is fair and eloquent ; 
Her atmosphere has never been invaded 
By prosperous opposition, and her tears 
Might even melt ^Eneas. Therefore, sir, 
I hold it best 3^ou circumvent this danger, 
As more or less it is, and take 3^our journe}'^ 
Sans taking leave of Dido. 

.S-w. What? shall I 

Slink like a thankless beoffar from the house 
Wherein an angel ministered my wants? 
No, not for Carthage ! 

Lys. Very well, good sir ; — 

I'll see you then to-night. 

^^n. To-niglit. 

Lys. Farewell. \_Exit. 

^^n. Now must ^Eneas shed his silken tra[)pings 
To creep into a coat of rugged mail ; , 

IMust now forsake Elisa's fragrant bosom 
To rock awake on surgy Neptune's breast. — 
The trump of war o'ershrills the pipe of peace, 
The serried march outsteps our nimble dances, 
The shout of battle drowns our songs of mirth, 
And every dulcet harmony doth split 
To jangling discord. — See, the waning day 
Now furls a misty mantle o'er his brow, 



JEneas. 231 

And liies liiin to tlie mazy labyrinth 
Where Thetis dwells. — So many dread events 
Crowd on the brink of time, these next two hours 
Are crammed with twenty years. 

Enter Misenus and Euryalus. 

How now, Misenus! 
I'm glad to see you well. 

Mis. Good evening, general. 

^E)i. You, too, Euryalus! well met, indeed: 
Let us walk in together, gentle friends ; 
I have a thousand matters in my mind 
We must converse together. 

Eur. By your leave, 

A trifling quick a})pointment stays my coming, — 
1 will return anon. 

^En. ^^y-, come with us: 

AVhen you perceive the drift of our intention, 
jNI}' life on't. you will thank me for i)reventi<)n. 

\_ExeuYtt. 

SCENE II. — A CiiAMHKi; in Dido's Palace. 

Anna. 

Anna. Barce is old and feeble, or ere this 
She had returned. Perhaps, she cannot find him. 
Or hath consigned her task to nimbler feet. — 
Oh, prating men! in war, caprice and honor. 



232 ' Mneas. 

You caAdl on the twinkling of an eye ; 
While in affairs of love, you lapse and linger 
Regardless of your faith: To-day, if't please 3^ou ; 
If not, perchance, to-morrow. — Here she comes. 

Enter Baikje. * , 

Where is he, Barce? 

Barce. He's a truant lover ; 

But I liave sent a dozen messengers 
To bring him here . — was it so proper, lady? 

Anna. Yes, 3^es, dear Barce : I am sick to see 
him. 

Barce. I thought as much. 

Anna. You saw nor heard -of him? 

Barce. Nothing for certain, — yet, as I came back, 
I stood within a window of the tower, 
From where, methinks, I saw Euryalus 
Pass by our gates with una))ating speed : 
Some three or four were with him, whom he held 
In quick attention ; now to this, now that. 
He turned liis speech, and with emphatic gesture 
Laid stress on all he said. My traitor eyes 
See not as they were wont, but for all that, 
I tliink 'twas he. 

Anna. Went they up or down? 

Barce, Towards Juno's temple, lady; whence they 
turned 
Directly to the harbor. — More strange news 
I can report : our house is all beset 



j^neai>> 233 

With armed men, who like dumb statues stand 
At ever}'- door, and shake their visored heads 
'I'o all inquiry. Near the outer court 
J met Lysander, pale and out of sorts ; 
I questioned him. but he went surW b\' 
AMthout so much as looking who I was. 
Something is stirring. 

Anna. Here Elisa comes. 

Good Barce, hold your tongue, and get thee gone : 
Perhaps you now can lind Euryalus. 

Barce. I'll try again. [£'.'v7. 

Enter Dido. 

Dido. What, no attendance here? 

Anna. Aye, dear Elisa. 

Dido. Keep me comi)any. — 

I am not well to-night : believe me, sister. 
I have a fearful heart. 

Anna. What should you fear? 

Dido. Hark 3'^ou ; what noise was that? 

Anna. I heard none. 

Dido. Listen! 

]My merry chambers are forsaken quite, 
As lonely as a churchyard. Not a soul 
Did I encounter, though I paced about 
From hall to hall until I fled the echo 
Of my own footfall. 

Anna. I will walk with you : 

And as we go, dispel your troubled temper 
With consequent diversion. 



234 y^neas. 

Dido. Nothing grievous ; 

I could not bear it now. 

Anna. Nay, fortunate : 

But I had lioped an abler tongue than mine 
Would come to plead for me. 

Dido. And who's the nianr 

Anna, You know as well as I. 

Dido. Euryalus? 

Would you had chosen elsewhere than of Troy. — 
But since I have an inkling of the pain 
That rankles in a parted lover's bosom, 
I dare not make denial. — Love him well ; 
You have a sister's blessing. 

Anna. Thanks, thanks, tiianks ! 

My wildest wish dared not expect so mucli ; 
So quick, so freely given. 

Dido. There again ! 

A rumbling noise like distant mutiny 
Swells on the air ; and even now I hear 
The click of nuiftled arms about my doors. 
Conspiracy, by Juno! — Summon guards! 
Where are my women? 

Anna. Here Lysander comes. 

Enter liVSANUEH. 

Dido. What means this heavy silence? Whose 
command 
Unpeoples Dido's palace; makes her court 
A breathless tomb, where (lends from Erebus 



y^neas, 235 

Gambol in spectral shape? I charge you, speak! 

Lyn. Most might}'' sovereign, if my wintery years. 
Entitle me to speak as most I think, 
I can but say, this hushed solemnity 
Becomes the royal house of Carthage better 
Than unrestrained carousal. 

Dido. Is it so? 

What other moral did your wisdom win 
From my delinquency? 

Lys. A simple one : 

That when the fruitful rains descend from heaven 
Our wheaten bounty prospers ; but, without 
The nurture of propitious elements. 
Our sheaves stand empty. 

Dido. And yonr simile? 

Lys. Our kingdom's coffers, madam. From the 
which 
All flow of wont revenue is cut off 
By this unsettled Trojan and his train. 

Dido. You speak too bold, Lysander. 

Lys. Just ; no more. 

For when he stepped on Carthaginian soil 
Our misery began : — You first he touched, 
And now his eastern habits hang upon 
The simplest of our city. His example 
Outsplendored industry with indolence : 
The web of commerce, nice and intricate, 
Sheds his unraveled fibres ; half built ships 
Cry shame upon our shipwrights from the dock 
In crippled mockery; the peaceful peasant 



236 j^neas. 

Forsakes the pasture for the tournament ; 

The sturdy mason and the carpenter, 

The skillful artisan and mean mechanic, 

All quit their tools and proper occupation 

To join this band of foreign revelers. 

Yea, e'en the greedy merchant shuts his shop 

To feed with great ^Eneas. — Would to heaven — 

Dido. Know you of whom you speak? 

Lys. Aye, madam, well: 

I speak of one who ran away from Troy 
AVhile yet the battle raged within her walls ; 
Of one who came a suppliant to our house, 
And now assumes commandment like a king ; 
Of one who prodigals our rightful treasures, 
Our country's honor, and our sacred queen ; 
Of one who wrought more mischief in our confines . 
Than all our enemies. 

Dido. No more, Lysander. 

Lys. Would you had never seen him. — Jove be 
thanked. 
His time has almost come. 

Dido. If you contrive 

Against Tl^^neas aught, your life shall pay for't. 
He dwells beneath the consecrated roof 
Of hospitality ; which none of you — 
No, not m3'self, can tumble. 

^n. [luithout] Stand askle ! 

Ye fret my passage. 

Dido. 'Tis j^neas' voice ! 

Lyp. Come, Anna, let us go. 

[£';V7Y Lysander and Anna. 



u^ncas. 237 

Officer, [trithoat^ Advance no further ! 

Another step, and by Alkmene's son, 
ni give command to strike thee to the ground. 

^^Eii. \^wHho^iQ Withdraw your puny weapon from 
my breast. — 
Now. by the gods, I'll spit thee on my sword! 
Away. I say! [^Struggle without^ 

Dido. JEneas ! 

E^iter ^NEAs. 

uEn. Here I am. 

Dido. Alive or dead? 

^En- Alive! 

Dido. I can no more. 

j^n. Your panting bosom hides a quivering heart 
That beats more sternly on my guilty body 
Than all the threatening lances of your guard. 

Dido. Believe me, love, I had no hand in this ; 
But I suspect Lysander, who e'en now 
Stole from m}- presence. — He shall answer for't. 

^n. Lysander is a most ingenious fellow, 
A scholar in discretion. 

Dido. No, ^neas ! 

He rails against you with malignant tongue. 
Accuses you of treason and deceit. 
And packs the blame of all adversity 
Against your single self, who seem to him 
A boding raven on our house's top. 

^En. Think you he would delight to see me gone? 



238 ^neas. 

Dido. No doubt, no doubt. 

jEn. Suppose I had concluded 

To do e'en so, and made admission here 
To take my leave of 3'ou ; — what would you say? 

Dido. What would I say? Now let me, let me 
see. — 
Why, I would say: — farewell my gallant fellow, 
Your little sojourn was a merry hour, 
I shall be loth to lose your company ; 
So, when 3'ou chance to pass this way again, 
Forget not in your haste to call on us : 
I shall be glad to see you. 

^^n. Nothing more? 

No sympathy, no sorrow, and no tears? 
Well, haply, better my unpitied loA^e 
Lies not so deep imbedded in your heart. 
As yours in mine. — So fare you well, Elisa ; 
Perchance, we'll meet again. 

Dido. Stay yet awhile. 

Your pale complexion starts a horrid fear : 
Unfold the tenor of this juggling humor, 
I can not understand it. Stay, I say ! 
Your jest is damnable! 

uEn. I know no jest. 

Dido. If you speak true, ^neas, kill me first. 
And travel after. Speak, oh, sjjeak to me ! , 

u3!]n. What shall I say? Our dismal conversation 
Requires no words. My love is yours, P^lisa ; 
And what of poor ^neas goes from Carthage 
Is no more than his ghost, constrained by Jove 



^neas. 239 

To further duties in this vexed world. 

There lies the torment of humanity : 

We guide our vessels to the tranquil shores 

Of friendship, and abundance, and of love, 

But in the clouds a mightier pilot rules, 

Who shapes our journe}^ towards unwished-for ports, 

And bends our barks beyond the finite sea 

Of human recognition. 

Dido. No, no, no ! 

You must not, shall not leave me! Cruel gods! 
I had l)een happier born a neatherd's daughter, 
Than Carthage' queen. 

^K\i. And I. a shepherd-swain. 

Forsooth, the lowl}^ bramble scorns the blast 
That cracks the proud top of the mountain pine : 
So you and I might in a hut of marl 
Have reached our destiny in sweet conjunction. 
Like Philemon and Baucis did of old. 
]5ut, as it is, a kingdom's general weal 
Draws hfe from you, while I must seek the country 
Where Dardanus was born. 

Dido. But why, iKneas? 

What fanciful ambition calls you forth? 
Have not 3 our wars achieved sufficient honor 
To grant thee respite for remaining days? 
While prudence governs valor danger flies, 
But you ])rovoke misfortune. Think of it: 
Poseidon and the rugged Boreas 
Conspire to vent their fury on your head ; 
Would thev not shout to crush your bauble shell. 



240 y^ncas. 

And swallow all within? And if you 'scape them. 
What cheerless expectation follows then : 
An alien soil, distempered elements, 
Uncivil neighbors, discontented subjects, 
And what diseases else are like to strangle 
The soft condition of an infant state. 
Therefore, Tl^^neas, be content to stay- 
in our dominion now to manhood grown. 
You shall be king in Carthage! Here we'll rule 
AVith vantage of co-mingled sovereignty 
lentil we enter Orcns. 

-.ii/n. Speak no more ! 

Unclasp your liery fetters from my neck, 
They melt my resolution. 

Dido. Yesterday 

You would have pressed me closer to your heart, 
And will you spurn me now? — You loved me once. 

^^n. 'Tis false, T love you still! 

Dido. Then sta}' with us. 

Go not to Italy. Believe me, love, 
The tranquil waters of felicity 
Run not along the dizzy steeps of fame. 
Oh, when proud man grows overweening bold 
And flaps his pinions in the face of heaven, 
Jove clips his feathers, and he falls to earth. 
While 7£sculapius made the feeble whole 
His praise was set to music ; yet this man 
Olympus smote with thunder, when he dared 
To bring the dead to life. And good Prometheus 
For iiuich }>enevolence was held bv man 



y^neas, 241 

In estimation e(iual to a god : 

But he waxed arrogant with big success, 

And pilfered fire from the hearth of Jove ; 

For which most rash presumption he lies bound 

With adamantine chains in Caucasus. — 

Profit by their example, great il^^neas ; 

Forswear ambition, take myself instead. 

'Twill be an easy task to learn to love me : 

Were I old or ugly, sick or dull, 

vStale or experienced, or affected else 

By blemish or disease, I would not ask it : — 

But I am bhthe and merry, 3'oung and fair ; 

3Iy eye is quick and lustrous, and my limbs 

Are straight and round ; my brow is free from wrinkles, 

My hps no poison, and my fervent bosom 

Expands with yearning passion for my king. 

Confide in me, ^Eneas : my delight 

Will be to please your humors. I will weep, 

Or laugh, or sing, or dance, or sleep, or wrangle 

When you solicit— nay, I'll pledge myself 

To solve intentions, and perform your wishes 

P>e you have time to think them. 

Enter Anchises' Ghost. 

^En. Look you there ! 

Dido. What is't? 
^En. Anchises' ghost. 

Dklo. You dream. 

^En. ^^^ ^^' 

My fatlu'r's si)irit. 
—10 



242 y^neas. 

Dido. You are mad, iT^^neas, 

And raise constructions on the empty air. 

^n. Peace, peace, or we'll offend him. — See, he 
starts 
As if about to speak. 

Dido. I see no ghost. 

^^n. Then 'tis none to you. 

Dido. We are all alone. 

^^n. Silence I 

Dido. Your rigid hand is cold as death. 

^a. Hush, hush! Portentous ghost, O speak 
to me! 

Ghost. From Pluto's drenching fire have I slipped 
To rate your apathy. Grandchild of Jove, 
How like the purblind rabble of the earth 
You clutch the glittering bauble of the nonce, 
And lose eternity. That you might look 
Into the timeless chasm of to be. 
And note how many millions yet unborn 
Tremble and supplicate with wringing hands 
Ao-ainst this doubtful scene. The gods themselves 
Neglect their council, and with wistful eye 
Peep through Olympus' curtain. — Rouse thee up ! 
Against your birth the liery eyes of heaven 
Proclaimed ^Eneas' fame should not grow cold 
Until the blazing alchemist himself 
Collapsed in ashes. Need I tell thee more? 

^'En. Forgive ! I can not look thee in the face. 
Carthage, farewell! Leaden; for Italy! 

\_Exit Ghost, foUovjed by ^neas. 



y^iicas. 243 



ACT V. 



SCENE I. — Garden near the Palace. 

Enter Euryalus. 

Eur. What, ho, fair prisoner! 

Anna, \_within~\ I come anon. 

Eur. How quick a lover's accent touched her ear 

Enter Anna. 

Fair maid of Lybia, your transcendent love 
Rivals the lustre of unmingled gold. — 
We must not tarry longer, sweet my chuck : 
The deepest folds of raven night are hung 
Askant the portal of the grayish dawn. 
And we must part with Carthage. Even now 
Swift ^Eolus inflates our barren canvas 
With soft embraces, with the same caress 
Tliat blows a lover's color to your cheek ; 
Our boatmen lift their dripping blades on high 
'J'o speed our dancing shallops, — come away. 



244 j^neas, 

Anna. Oh, what a world of love I leave behind me I 
Kind Carthage, Anna takes her last adieu. 
Will I not wander on a foreign shore, 
And strain my eyes to reach your welcome vision^ 
Wishing my sight as nimble as my mind? 
Your friendly walls, your marble palaces, 
Your glittering temples, your familiar streets, 
And thousand unexpressive tricks of nature, 
Will cloak remembrance with a garb of tears. 
Farewell, sweet sister ; gentle friends, adieu ! 
Perhaps, forevermore. 

Eur. Tears token sorrow, 

And sorrow is a grise to wretchedness : 
I must suppose your fortune pitiful. 
If you bewail it. — Truly, is it so? 

Anna. No ; this, and doubly this, would I forego 
To be companion of your weal and woe. \_Exeunt. 

SCENE II. — ^Seashore near Carthage. 
E7iter CoRiNTHus and a number of Trojans. 

1 Tro. What, go to sea? I'd rather go to helL 
And ship on Charon's ferry. 

2 Tro. So would I. 

3 Tro. And I. 

4 Tro. And I. 

5 Tro. And every one of us» 



^neas, 245 

Cor. Your choice is not the water, prating knaves, 
On which yEneas sails. He wills it so ; 
And when he nods your highness must olie}'. 

1 Tro. Must, is it? Tell me now, wliat must I do 
Unless I choose to do it ? P>erv act 
Cries mother to our will, 

■^ Tro. Chance, too, mothinks. 

Cor. And father to our general. 

Enter more Trojans. 

-^ Tro. What's the news? 

G Tro. Strange, past endurance. 
^or. Somewhat musty, too. 

6 Tro. We sail for Italy this Very night. 

1 Tro. As you are friends, ma}^ 3^our adventure 

prosper ; 
For my part, Carthage suits me well enough, 
^o I'll remain behind. ;My love to all ; 
I will no longer hinder — fare you well. 

2 Tro. Here comes Misenus. 

Gor. He who never smiles. 

2 Tro. How well you played his counterfeit last 
night : 
My life on't, he had laughed his belly full. 
Had he been by to see you. 

Cor, Very like ; 

And haply I had wept. 

1 Tro. I pray you, friends, 

Orant me your leave to reason with Misenus. 



246 u^neas, 

S Tro. With all my heart. 

4 Tro. Give him to understand 
For why we will not go. 

5 Tro. Do so — 'tis well. 

Cor. Why turn j^our argument against Misenus 
When he is nothing but vEneas' tongue? 
If you would shift a mountain, set your backs 
Against ^Eneas', base : do not, for shame, 
Spurn at a mole-hill with your angry foot. 
And flatter your ability to think 
That it had moved Olympus. 

Enter Misenus and more Trojans, 

Mis. Bustle, bustle ; — 

Your holiday carousals are at end, 
And by Apollo, ye shall work again. 
Aboard ! aboard ! There is no time to question ; 
For when the foremost herald of the morn 
Frets yonder mountain with his dart of light, 
Our summons of embarkment will resound 
From cliff to sea. — Ye stare at one another, 
And seem confounded like a flock of sheep 
That lack their leader. What's the matter with you? 

Cor. Nothing at all ; our state is well enough. 

1 Tro. And since we are contented with our 
having. 
We seek no alteration, and prefer 
To rest in Carthage, rather than defy 
New perils of adventure. 



u^neas, 247 

.*> Tt'o. You say right. 

^1//. Aye, aye. 

1 Tro. And what advantage will accrue 
If thus we jeopardize? 

Cor. Tut, foolish fellow ; 

Why may not you become a famous man 
Like Hector was? 

2 Tro. I'd rather have my stomach 
Filled with good wine, than trace a triple circle 
Behind Achilles' chariot in the dust. 

1 Tro. Let not the poor contend to grapple honor, 
For this commodity is held so high 
The rich alone can buy't. 

7 Tro. I had concluded 
To ship along ; but now, I think of it, 
'Tis better here. 

Mis. I charge you on your lives 

To banish this aspect of mutiny. 
If any go not willingly along, 

They'll go per force: we'll bind you hand and foot. 
And stall you on our vessels like a drove 
Of stubborn cattle. 

4 Tro. I'll not budge an inch. 

8 Tro. Nor I. 

1 Tro. Let all of us resolve to stay : 

If we combine unshaken in our purpose. 

No power on earth can move us. 

8 Tro. Count me in. 

All. A^'e, we'll remain in Carthage; that we will. 



248 Aliicus, 

2 Tro. And if ambition prick Misenus still, 
Let him depart alone. 

8 Tro. ^neas comes. 

Cor. Now will your roaring lion change his music, 
And bleat more gently than a sucking lamb. 

Enter ^neas, Euryalus, and more Trojuns. 

u^n. A bright good morrow to you, ever}' one. 
I must implore forgiveness for my failing, 
I should have greeted you an hour ago ; 
But I perceive your patience pardons me. 
For which all thanks. 

7 Tro. He speaks beseechingly. 

1 Tro. Come, let us go. 

6 Tro. Nay, we will hear him out : 

Our resolution sticks. 

u^n. Ye men of Troy, 

Misenus here, our most courageous general — 
Though blunt in speech, in honors next to us — 
Gives me to know, that you forswear allegiance, 
And turn your back upon your dearest friend. 

1 Tro. We wish to stay in Carthage. 

Eur. Not alive. 

^n. Hush, malapert! — I'm very sorry for you, 
But have no mind to change 3'^our purposes. 
If you were beasts, I'd try persuasion with you, 
But since you travel 'neath the masks of reason, 
I can not choose but think you rational. — 
Misenus, get you to the citadel : 



y^neas. 249 

There you will find a host of gallant men, 

The very bloom and blossom of this kingdom, 

Drooping with disappointment. — Ere I came 

Thej^ did implore to join our expedition. 

And almost drowned me with the name of king. — 

Yes, I denied them in the fond delusion 

That 'mong my brothers I would never find 

A single man but he would chide me for't. 

If I conferred our sacred privilege 

On any but of Troy. — But tell them now : 

My Trojans are turned traitors ; wherefore they 

Shall mount our vessels ; their elected king 

Awaits to hold them by a brother's hand. 

\_Exit MisEMs. 

6 Tro. What think you oft? 

7 Tro. He touched me to the heart. 
•T Tro. M} blood grows warm whene'er I hearhiiu, 

speak. 
i) Tro. You heard him saj^ he doth abjure com- 
pulsion : 
Tlierefore 'tis clear he loves us. 

4 Tro. See him now : 
His eyes are melting, and he looks on us 
With pity and reproach. 

5 Tro. Would that he spoke ; 
I know not what to think. 

7 Tro. I blush in shame. 

For once he saved my life. 

J Tro. We'll hear him speak, 

And thus be satisfied for here or hence. 



250 y^neas, 

4 Tro. Aye : that were best. 

2 Tro. Let hiin unfold his mind : 

If he have anything to say to ns, 
We'll listen to him. 

All. Speak, ^neas, speak ! 

Cor. Stand back, aside, make passage for ^neas. 

7 Tro. What needs this crowding ; there is room 
for all. 

5 Tro. vSilence ! he doth begin. 

1 Tro. We can not hear. 

2 Tro. Raise him aloft on our combined shields, 
That every word find entrance to our ear. 

All. All hail, ^neas ! Hail, our sovereign chief I 
Anchises' son, Jove-born iEneas, hail ! 

^^n. Ill-guided Trojans, there's no more to say. 
yEueas leaves 3^ou with no jot of anger. 
For every part of his perturbed bosom 
Runs thick with pity. — Once I called you mine: 
In camp and field, in tempest and adventure, 
In penury and plent}^, peace and war. 
We still have stood together side by side ; 
And if the smiles of dame prosperity 
Did render one or other of us proud. 
Misfortune ever made us one again. — 
But not so now : the glaring summer sun 
Defeats your vision, and you cannot fix 
Your eyes beyond the limits of a day. 

5 Tro. His heart is full of kindness. 

Cor. - Hold your peace ! 



^^neas, 251 

uli^n. For favors past I now request of you 
A promise in return. 

All. 'Tis done; what is it? 

^En. Tliat none of you, who had a mind to stay,. 
Follow me now as 'twere in gratitude. — 
I'd rather lose you all. By heaven's tire, 
1 would not share the bounty of my honor, 
Nor tread the path of immortality 
With any man who would unwilling go. — 
Shame, shame on Ilium's offal! Here's a heart 
Cabled to Carthage with a hundred cords, 
And when our heaving anchors 'gin to rise 
'Twill burst these links of iron. Yet I'd go, 
Though Vulcan offered me apprenticeship. — 
Swiftly the poor allotment of our years 
Sinks in the hungry maw of cruel time ; 
Fresh-nataled infancy and tottering age 
Crawl but an inch apart ; to-day, to-morrow : 
And thus the ceaseless bustle of mutation 
Piles untold jeons of forgetfulness. — 
l^ut while the tongue of man articulates 
Will this narration pass from lip to lip : 
When great Ulysses sacked the Trojan town^ 
There went a prince — ^I^neas was his name — 
With many followers from the burning city, 
To re-create his realm upon the banks 
Of yellow-crested Tiber. For the gods 
Had signilied assurance to vEneas, 
Tliat he might build an emi)ire bounded only^ 
Because the earth was finite. — And he went. 



252 j^neas. 

But Neptune smote him on the coast of Carthage ; 
And there — now mark ye how the story ends — 
These gems of fortune rebelled 'gainst ^neas ; 
And he, disgusted with their villainy, 
Embarked with half of Carthage at his heels, 
And not a single Trojan followed him. 

All. Away, away! make room ! for Italy ! 
I'll die or follow. — Hail ! ^neas, hail ! 
What ho! to ship, to ship! to sea, to sea! 

[Exeunt all hut ^neas. 

yEn. Omnipotent, a thousand, thousand thanks! 
Not I, but thou bringst us to Tiber's banks. 

Enter Misenus, another general and Trojans. 

O good Misenus, we were born to conquer ; 

There is not wind enough 'twixt earth and heaven 

To wreck our expedition : every vessel 

Shall with the stamp of Jove upon his prow 

Swim into Tiber's mouth. I feel it here, 

From our most weak commencement there shall grow 

An empire reaching over half the earth ; 

So honored and revered by other men. 

The humblest member of our commonwealth 

Shall own a passport ampler than a king's, 

To make condition. — Let us, gentle friends. 

Be most exact and proper with ourselves ; 

And stuff our virgin law so full of justice, 

That from her sanctified and pregnant loins 



An issue may arise so finely featured, 

That e'en the utmost progeny of man 

Will gaze upon it with an eye of wonder, 

And draw conclusions from his countenance 

Ten thousand years from now. — Go search the city^ 

Call every wayward Trojan to our ships : 

We must not leave a single man behind us 

Who might in after days cry shame on those 

That did inherit like the sons of Jove 

And made unjust division. \Exit^ 

Mis. Rest you here 

Till I return, staying each passer-by 
As best you can ; and let me walk the town, 
Since I am looked upon with less suspicion 
By Carthage' people and her officers 
Than you and manj' others. 

G^n. Truly now, 

Here comes a Trojan. 

^Ii8. 'Tis Euryalus. 

Oen. Wh}' hastes he so? 

^^^8- I fear he bears a message 

Of evil import. 

Gen. He is strangely moved, 

And looks about as if he fain would find 
Some one to speak to. 

Mis. See, he comes apace. 

Enter Euryalus. 

Ear. O good Misenus, we are all undone ! 
Mii>. Undone ! How so ? 



254 ^neas, 

Eur. The queen — 

Mis. Well, what of her? 

Eur. Is dead. 

Gen. Not so. 

Eur. Aye, truly. 

Mis, Dido dead? 

Eur. Queen Dido, sirs, is dead. 

Mis. How came she so? 

Eur. By her own hand. 

Mis. Saw you ^neas since? 

Eur. He knows of nothing yet. I met Lysander 
Employing every means to hush this matter 
Until we were at sea ; but I am certain 
It will avail him nothing : Twenty couriers 
Dashed through the city's gates five hours ago 
To spread this information ; and JEneas 
Ere this, perchance — 

Mis. It were a charit}'- 

To intercept him, and prepare his ear 
For this unkindly jangle, which, I ween, 
Some inconsiderate groom of Mercury 
Will startle too abruptly. 

Eur. Poor ^neas ! 

Mis. You dwell i' the very home of his affection ; 
And, therefore, hie thee hence, Eiiryalus, 
To bear these tearful tidings to your friend : 
He will receive it with a mingled sorrow 
From one allianced only to his joy. 

Eur. What, I? 



y^neas, 255 

Mis. Believe me, 3-011 are l)est adapted, 

Enjoying, as it were, his doubled love : 
Botli sou and brother. 

Eur. Be it so. Adieu. \_Exit. 

Enter a Messexgeu. 

Gen. Here's more news still. 

Mis. Well, sir; what is it? speak. 

Mess. I bring you news, that Gj^as, whom you 
know 
^Eneas posted to the Numidian chief 
In business of the late lamented queen — 

Mis. A bold, ambitious man ; I knew him well. 

Mess. 'Tis given out, that he and king larbas, 
Then almost dead for Dido, sat them down 
To hatch a plot, by whose fell covenant 
The rule of Carthage should descend to Gj'as, 
And Dido to larbas. 

Mis. But, in sooth, 

The queen is dead. 

Mess. And, therefore, Gyas died : 

F(jr when the rumors of her taking off 
Were noised abroad, larbas quick in anger, 
rpbraided Gyas with a charge of treason, 
A guilty man is fearful of his shadow. 
And stabbed him to the heart. 

Gen. I thank him for't. 



256 ^^neas. 

Mis. The rascal ever knows his friend a rosriie. 
And, therefore, will not trust him. 

Gen. Stand aside. 

Enter ^neas and Eukyalus. 

uEn. With fire, say you? 

Eur. Aye, my lord, with fire 

In that same marble court where we delighted 
To slumber when the merry fountain sang. 
She heaped a pyre of rose and sandalwood. 
In pretense of omitted sacrifice. 
And set it off with every dear remembrance 
Pertaining to these halcyon days of love. 
From Eros' temple she obtained a torch, 
And mounting to the summit of her labor 
She plied the flame, whose vulgar appetite, 
As it were conscious of the delicate food. 
Crouched for an instant, but an instant only, 
And then assailed her with a serpent's tongue, 
Whose forked lightning darted o'er her head, 
And wound her with a flaming cerement. 

uEn. And died so? 

Ear. Even so ; a piteous death. 

uEn. But proud, by heaven, proud, Euryalus. 
Or you or I had not the heart to do it. 
And we are soldiers, too. — There is no hope 
Your information slips? 

Eur. Believe me, no. 

Our messages are fraught with such concurrence. 



y^neas. 257 

Tliat discord found no passage. And, moreover, 

My wife had tidings — 

u-En. How? 

Eur. I say, my wife 

Had messages. 

^n. I thought your wife was dead. 

Eur. What say you? 

■^n. Oh, methinks we all should die ! 

Forgive this egoism, noble friend ; 

I am not jealous, but, beshrew my heart, 

A very child to that philosophy 

Which teaches us to smile at other's fortune 

Without remembrance of our penury. — 

Poor, poor Elisa ! I will weep for thee. 

Since by the edict of mysterious Jove 

I 'came the implement to bring about 

Your fiery expedition. Tell me now^ : 

Where dwells the nimble motion of your foot. 

Your brow of marble, and your cheek of rose : 

The melting lustre of your fringed ej^e. 

And where the proud perfection of your lips. 

Those crimson portals of a silvery voice, 

Compared to which the nectar of the gods 

Seemed bitter as the sea? — Forever lost! 

Unkind perdition stole it all away 

To lisfht the gloomy cells of Erebus ; 

And we inherit from a world of beaut}- 

No other having but a hand of dust, 

Which e'en the stalest wench o' the trooper's camp 

Might leave as well as she. 



258 ^neas. 

Enter Anna, iveeping. 

Eur. \to Anna.'] I will not chide 

Your gentle nature for this dissolution ; 
For look, the toughest bosom of our host 
Quakes with upheaval, and the very eye 
That smiled upon the wrath of Peleus' son 
Doth run to water. — Shed your tears together ; 
They are the children of a kindred pain. 

^n. E'en such a one as you was she who causes 
This trickling humor to escape my eye. 
The world is overrun with contradiction : 
Else could the timid passion of your sex 
Melt stone and iron? for of these, they say, 
A soldier's heart is fashioned. Weep not, child : 
You have some comfort in adversity, 
A valiant soldier, on whose wedded arm 
To hang one half your trouble. — But, ye gods, 
What shall ^'neas do ! The earth is empt}^. 
And hope lies blasted with sterility. 

Mis. Pray you, no more of this. 

^n. Right, right, Misenus : 

Albeit this day is darker than the shades 
That brood in Pluto's night, the gods have shown me 
A blazing meteor streaming through the sky ; 
And by the salt of these unused tears, 
I'll pluck the dazzling jewel from the clouds. 
For I was born to do so. 



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